


Chances

by MadDoctorArtist



Series: War of the Old Ones Saga [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDoctorArtist/pseuds/MadDoctorArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of the War of the Old Ones Saga. A wounded Hero of Ferelden awakens after the Battle of Denerim with no memory of what transpired. Adopting the name Yara, she tries to recover the missing pieces of her former life. A chance encounter brings her to Kirkwall, where she befriends Amber and Bethany Hawke. Her promising new beginning, however, is rudely shattered when the shadows of her past finally catch up with her. COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES TO BE AWARE OF:
> 
> This story takes places across the very end of Dragon Age Origins, through Dragon Age 2 outside of Kirkwall, and through Dragon Age Inquisition. Events in my two DAO fics, ‘Choices’ and ‘Consequences’, can be considered canon to this universe (neither of which need to be read beforehand but they may add some extra context).
> 
> I am also borrowing plot elements from Final Fantasy XIII-3: Lightning Returns; no characters from the FF13 games will appear, nor will I use much material from FF13 itself. Sorry to disappoint!
> 
> I am conflating various bits of the Tevinter old god lore and Elven old god lore and ignoring the bits that don’t fit (of course). So if you find yourself thinking ‘wait that isn’t right’, it probably isn’t. I’m making it fit this universe.  
> Authorial rant: While I love the DA series, I did find the trilogy of games very disjointed story-wise, so this is my attempt to make them more tied together. It will generally be true to in-game events apart from the end of Inquisition (which I found pretty lacklustre to be honest).

_The world is a storm of metal and fire. Embers and smoke choke the sky, and darkness sweeps over the city of Denerim. The mighty capital is now a burnt ruin, overrun with darkspawn. But the Archdemon is floundering, its steps heavy and weak. It cannot bear the onslaught for much longer. Blood pours from its multiple wounds, soaking the Fort Drakon battlements, yet still its eyes hold light._

_A light that must be extinguished._

_Voices cry out, gathering for a final charge. The chance cannot be lost. The Archdemon howls, spreading its wings in defiance. Its generals have been slain, its army on the verge of collapse. It will know defeat soon._

_It begins. The tower becomes a blur, steel catches flame, and the creature roars. It shakes and flaps, a trapped bird desperate to escape its fate. Blades strike, severing hide as tough as nails. More blood, so much blood, staining hands, armour, the bodies of the fallen…_

_The beast strikes out in death, shattering the walls. The stones can’t bear it, shrieking and groaning as they crumble to dust. The ground cracks and disappears, becoming nothing but air and rubble. The wind whips, tearing skin, merciless, and the sky is snatched away._

_Someone screams, but I don’t remember._

* * *

 

“Open your eyes, child!”

The woman gasped, emerging from unconsciousness. The cool white sheets replaced the encroaching darkness, and she let out a breath. Another dream. She turned her head, picking out the olive-skin and trim moustache of Healer Viren. A sight that had become very familiar over the last few months. He smiled, patting her wrist.

“Well, good afternoon,” he said. “You had me worried for a moment. You’ve not slept that deeply for a long while. Perhaps the pethirine tonic I gave was a little too potent.”

A blush rose on the woman’s cheeks. Even without the pain-killing medicine, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to call out to her in sleep. But when the visions were so vivid, so intense, so _real_ …

“Hey, Father, what do you want me to do with these?” A girl’s voice called from the back room, breaking the woman’s thoughts. Viren turned his head, gesturing to the corner.

“Just there will be fine, Eliza.” His attention returned to me, and he raised a brow. “May I?”

The woman nodded. She relaxed into the bed, allowing the healer to strap an unusual device to her arm. It resembled a large pocket watch, though with extra dials. He called it an iasometer—a special instrument that measured a patient’s vital signs. Not that she had any clue how such a thing could work, but it had become a part of her daily routine now.

She watched as he touched the glass, igniting it with magic. The dials flickered, before they settled into the green areas. Well away from the red and amber, where they used to linger.

“Good.” Viren removed the device. “How do your legs feel today?”

The woman sighed, flexing her toes. For so many months her lower limbs had been dead weights, so weak they’d been unable to support her at all. Yet slowly, through small exercises and proper eating, her strength had returned. She’d even managed to master standing over the last week, although she still needed considerable support.

“They aren’t as sore,” she said, her own voice also strange to her ears. Speech was another thing that had only come back recently.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Viren answered. “Because I was wondering if you wanted to try walking today?”

The woman hesitated. “Are you sure I’m ready for that?”

“My dear, would I be asking the question otherwise?” Viren chuckled. “You gave us that same look when Eliza offered to teach you to speak, and yet here you are, able to converse as fluently as you did before.”

“Yeah, you pick up things so quickly, this shouldn’t be any different,” Eliza added. She came to sit beside the bed, putting her legs up on the frame. Viren frowned at her, and she rolled her eyes, sitting properly again. The woman had to smirk. Typical teenage behaviour.

“Well,” the woman began, “if you think I can do it…”

“Pfft, it doesn’t matter what _we_ think,” Eliza scoffed. “I know you’re as sick of lying in that bed as I am of picking elfroots. And it’s a nice day outside. Would be a shame not to enjoy it!”

The woman laughed. With encouragement like that, it was hard to refuse.

“Alright, let’s give it a try.”

Nodding, Viren moved aside, and Eliza shifted to the bed. The woman sat up, the muscles in her back and sides protesting. It was about time they were put to use. She pulled the sheets aside, then carefully swung her legs over. Sharp pains ran up her calves, and she winced. Slowly, slowly. Even if she’d made a lot of good progress, there was no need to overtire herself.

“That’s it.” Eliza sat against the woman’s side, draping her arm over her shoulders. “On three. One, two…three!”

Together they stood up. The woman felt her legs sway, but she held firm. She would not fall today. Once she found her balance, she glanced to the door. It was perhaps six or seven steps away. An easy enough goal. Taking a breath, she took her first step. Eliza moved with her, taking her weight at exactly the right moment. Her foot touched the ground again, and she braced her knee, planning the next step. It was amazing how she had taken such a simple movement for granted. Now every stretch of muscle needed so much thought and energy, drawing upon reserves she never knew she had.

The next step came and went, followed by another. Her pace was smoother, but fatigue was catching up. Her thighs were already begging for rest, but there were still two more steps to the door.

“Nearly there,” Eliza said, her grip tightening. “You can do it!”

The woman steeled herself. She couldn’t give in; she _would_ make it outside. It had been far too long since grass had tickled her feet, or a breeze caressed her hair. The scent of wild pollen, the warmth of sunlight, the rustle of leaves, the creak of bark; all the things she had lost after the accident, and so desperately wanted to reclaim.

It was time to return to the world again.

Eliza guided her onto the outside path, and the first thing that hit her was the scent. Fresh wildflowers and pine needles mixed with the raw saltiness of the coast, quenching a thirst she hadn’t realised. The smells were vaguely familiar, tugging at a past she could barely picture. Perhaps she had lived by the coast once; why its taste lingered in her mind.

She let that wash over her, her gaze falling to the garden that fronted Viren’s home. Her eyes lit up. So many colours, and such warmth! She glanced in all directions, wanting to take in as much as possible. A stone well stood in the centre, surrounded by beds of exotic flowers and rare herbs. In the distance loomed a forest, flanking a narrow road that had seen better days. The sky was cloudless and bright, and birds chirped from the roof. Yet more recollections danced at the edge of darkness, trying to awaken, but they could not.

Tears prickled, and she angrily wiped them aside. So much had been taken from her—her health, her voice, her memories, even her own name—and she’d hoped that escaping her confines would trigger their return. Alas, they continued to elude her, and perhaps always would.

She sighed, chiding herself. There was no need to cling to despair, not when she’d proven much of it false. In that bed she’d been so isolated, so cut off from everything, struggling against the horrifying thought that she would never be free. Yet here she was amidst the grass and flowers, beneath the sun and sky, finally part of something larger again. It would still take time, but it affirmed her faith that someday she would fully regain herself.

However, as much as she wanted to explore the new world, her legs had had enough. Her knees buckled, and Eliza had to catch her.

“Whoa, careful!” The girl eased her fall, and the two ended up on the grass. The woman took steady breaths, a small sweat forming on her forehead. Eliza’s brow creased. “Sorry, maybe that was a little too much.”

“No, not at all.” The woman pulled away, running her fingers through the grass. The texture, the dampness; even her pains couldn’t take that away. “I really needed this. Thank you, Eliza.”

“Ah, you’re welcome,” Eliza said, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s good to see you smiling again.”

The pair sat for a long while, the woman enjoying the breeze. Everything was aching, but it felt so _good_ to be out of that damn bed. She squinted at the flowers, wanting every shade of red and purple and white and yellow to be imprinted on her memory. It would be something to hold onto for darker days, and she would do whatever it took to keep it.

Eventually Eliza yawned, flicking a petal off her sleeve. “You want to go back now?”

“Not yet,” the woman said, digging her fingers into the mud. “Just…Just a little longer?”

“Fine by me,” Eliza shrugged, resting back on her hands. “Father might have other ideas, though. But if he gets mad, you can blame me.”

The woman smiled. Eliza had a remark for almost everything, and she had been so glad the girl had kept her company over these long months. She reached out, plucking a petunia, before offering it to her. It was the least she could give.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” Eliza teased, taking the flower. She twirled it between her fingers, chewing her lip. “You know, I think you should keep it. To remind yourself what you achieved today.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” the woman said.

“Of course it is,” Eliza answered, “because Andraste knows you’re going to feel this tomorrow!”

The woman laughed. Yes, she probably would. She took the petunia back, tracing the delicate stem and bright petals. However, as she turned back, something grey caught her eye. Frowning, she sat forward, brushing some of the flowers aside. A memorial stone had been placed in the bedding, almost hidden by the bloom. A name had been carved onto it, along with a set of dates.

Eliza noticed her staring, and her eyes fell a little. The woman raised a brow. She’d never seen anything subdue her before.

“Is that for your mother, Eliza?” she asked softly.

Eliza shook her head. “No, she’s buried at the back. That’s for…my sister, Yara.” Her eyes glistened for a moment, and she quickly wiped them. “You know, she’d have been the same age as you, if she was still…” She trailed off, her voice losing its confidence.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The woman swallowed, wishing she had not brought up such a topic.

“It’s alright,” Eliza said, taking a breath. “I just wish she’d come back to Amaranthine when she had the chance last year. Then maybe she wouldn’t have been caught in the Blight.”

The word struck a chord, and the woman grasped the pendant around her neck. It was one of the few mementoes from her past life—a life that haunted her dreams, and had led to her terrible injuries. Viren had recognised it as darkspawn blood, and had said she must have been a Grey Warden prior to her accident. A title that held no meaning to her, despite the books Eliza had lent her on the subject. Still, she knew what the Blight had wrought, and was glad she had been a part of those who had stopped it.

Even if she couldn’t recall any of it.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” the woman said at last. “She had a very beautiful name.”

Eliza gave a wry smile. “Named after an ancient Rivani water goddess, apparently. Powerful and chaotic. It suited her.”

“I’m sure,” the woman said. She closed her eyes, and let out a breath. “I wish I could recall my name, too.”

Eliza tilted her head, her sadness lifting. “You still don’t remember?”

“No,” the woman said. “I was hoping something would’ve made it come back to me.”

“Well, we’re going to have to call you _something_ ,” Eliza stated. “It’s been months now, and I’m sure you can’t stand being called ‘child’ by Father as much as I do.”

The woman laughed. “I don’t mind it that much.”

“Oh, stop being so polite,” Eliza answered. Her gaze fell to the memorial stone again, and she swallowed. “I mean, you remind me a lot of Yara. You have that same kindness in your eyes, like you’re willing to help anyone who asks. Within reason, of course.” Her cheeks flushed. “I think…well, ignore me if you like, but I think her name would suit you, too.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Viren and his daughter had already given her so much, and now they would offer her a new name, too. She could never repay them as she wanted, but this was an honour she could not turn down.

“I think that’s a great idea, Eliza,” she said, bowing her head. “I only hope I can live up to her memory.”

Eliza’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around her. The woman froze, caught off guard, but soon returned the embrace. Once upon a time she had known such comforting warmth, and it teased at her thoughts, but she let them fall aside. She would fight for them another time.

“Oh, sorry!” Eliza withdrew, her cheeks tinged pink. “I got a bit carried away.”

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed,” the woman chuckled. “Though that is a good look for you.”

Eliza stuck out her tongue. “Hey, I’m the one supposed to do the teasing around here. Amaranthine’s not big enough for the both of us.”

“Then I suppose your resignation is in order.”

Eliza snorted, barely able to hide her giggling.

“Sure, whatever you say…Yara.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not played Awakening so I consider that those events never happened in this verse.
> 
> EDIT: Alright, so I've since looked into Awakening and (as helpfully pointed out by Alkeni), it seems I was a bit pre-emptive in dismissing it, lol. So those events do happen, but without the Hero present (obviously).

 

The clash of steel rang through the air, and Yara grunted, bracing her swords. Her opponent smirked, withdrawing his axe, before swinging it towards her once more. This time Yara ducked, letting it sail above her, then tackled his legs. Both of them fell to the ground, but only one kept hold of their weapon. With her knees straddling his chest, Yara smirked, her blade resting against his neck.

"Yield?" she asked casually.

"Alright, I'll let you have this one!" Adam said, his brow drenched in sweat. Yara grinned, moving off him, then offered her hand. Adam took it, hoisting himself to his feet. "Lizzie was right you know, you really do pick up things quick!"

"Don't call me 'Lizzie'," Eliza called from the porch, where she had been observing the match. "And well done, Yara! I told you he wasn't that hard to beat. He's only a trainee guardsman."

"You're one to talk," Adam sneered. "You can't even wield a knife without hurting yourself!"

"That's not my job," Eliza shot back. "I mend people, I don't break them. And I'm much better at that than you could ever be."

Adam pulled a face at her, before he turned to Yara. He gave a nod, impressed.

"Good match, Yara," he said. "Seems switching to dual blades made all the difference. You must've been trained well."

"I'm just thankful it's starting to come back to me," Yara answered, sheathing her blades. Although her back was sweaty and her muscles fatigued, neither could stem the exhilaration running through her veins. She had been determined to defeat Adam ever since he'd offered to retrain her, and now, two months later, she was victorious. It marked the last hurdle of her arduous recovery, and she couldn't have been happier to see it knocked flat.

Smiling, she looked across the gardens, which were once again in full bloom. A year had passed since she had taken her first tentative steps here, and she almost couldn't believe how far she'd come. It was all thanks to Viren's healing tonics and Eliza's fitness regime, which had rebuilt her strength and stamina. Still, the journey had been hard, and her many scars would serve as a testament to the gruelling ordeal she'd almost not survived.

She rubbed the cross-shaped mark on her cheek, and let out a sigh. Her body might have finally healed, but her memory remained very much a blank slate. No further details of her past had emerged, and all she could recall were fragments of her dreams; much too sparse to mean anything. And while she enjoyed the company of Viren and Eliza, the time was fast approaching when she would have to leave to find her own answers.

"So, mind if we postpone the rematch?" Adam interrupted her thoughts. He picked up his fallen axe, dusting stray twigs from his shoulders.

"I never took you for a sore loser, Adam," Yara teased, combing her fingers through her messed-up hair. It had grown out a lot; she would have to get Eliza to trim it later.

"Hardly," Adam replied. "It's just..." At that moment his stomach growled, and he gave a sheepish smile.

"He just wants a free hot meal," Eliza said, shaking her head. She rose from the porch and approached, her arms folded.

"Come on Eliza, you know I'm desperate if I'll even stomach your cooking..."

Eliza elbowed him in the ribs, and Adam winced. Yara chuckled. Adam was a year older to Eliza, and the two had grown up together. In fact, they had seldom been apart until Adam had enlisted as a guardsman in Amaranthine the previous year. It was clear to see how much they had missed each other, and how comfortable they felt in the other's presence.

The sight set off a sense of familiarity, and she frowned. Once she must've shared a similar relationship, before being forcefully pulled away. Such fleeting feelings had been coming more frequently, and they were driving her up the wall. How she wished she could picture something, _anything_ from that time, just so she could make sense of what happened. How she had ended up with such profound wounds, who could possibly have cared enough to bring her to a renowned apostate healer and yet not remain for her recovery...or perhaps they had already given up after hearing Viren's initial report.

If only she could find some light to throw onto the darkness...

"Andraste got your tongue, Yara?" Eliza asked, prodding the woman's shoulder. Yara blinked, returned to the present. "I was asking if you were hurt at all?"

"Oh, sorry, no I'm not," Yara said, as she began to follow the pair back into the house. "I was just thinking."

Eliza sighed. "I bet I can guess what about, too."

Yara hesitated. She had wanted to bring up the topic of leaving at some point, but had not had the confidence to speak up. She and Eliza had become very close, and she didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings.

Before she could stammer out an answer, Eliza held up her hand.

"Oh, don't feel guilty," she said, resting her hands behind her head. "This day was going to come eventually. I'm not that naive." She managed a wry smile. "But I wouldn't be lying if I said I was hoping not too soon."

"Eliza, she's not your pet to pamper," Adam said; he was quicker to dodge her elbow this time.

"I'd like to know where the 'pampering' part ever came into it," Yara giggled. By now they were inside, tantalised by the smell coming from the kitchen. Viren had been busy during their practice.

"Oh come on, I gave you plenty of treats for every new trick you learned," Eliza said, grabbing plates from one of the cupboards. Yara discarded her blades, making for the bronze basin to rid herself of the mud.

"See, she's got you trained well, Yara," Adam joked, joining her. "But seriously, have you made any plans for the future yet?"

Yara chewed her lip, watching the water rinse the grime from her hands.

"I can't say I've thought much further apart from maybe heading to Amaranthine sometime," she admitted.

"That's not going to get you very far," Adam said. "But given what you've told me, I had another idea in mind." He dried his hands, and they returned to the dining tablet to sit. "I'll be heading back to the garrison in a couple of weeks, and since you're doing so well, I wondered if you wanted to come with me?"

"To join the guardsmen?" Yara shook her head. "It's very kind of you to offer, Adam, but I didn't really plan to stay in the area."

"I figured as much," Adam went on, "which is why I was going to say I could introduce you to some mercenary friends of mine. They're called the Bronze Blades, and they've quite a reputation. They get jobs all over Ferelden. At least that way you won't be travelling alone, and you'll make some gold out of it as well, which is never a bad thing."

Yara nodded, mulling over the idea in her head. Adam brought up a lot of good points. Aside from the pendant around her neck and some mangled armour, she had nothing in the way of personal belongings, and travel was not cheap. Even if she had to be bound to the mercenaries for a time, it would be much easier, and safer, to find out about her past this way. It would also give her some real combat training, where she had others to rely on in case things got messy.

"It sounds like a very good plan indeed," Viren said, entering the room with a large pot. "I know the captain of the Blades quite well. Eva is a steadfast and honest woman, a former Templar." He set the pot on the table, chortling. "I have tended her group's injuries many a time. They're a good bunch."

"Then that makes it even easier," Adam said. "If you can vouch for Yara, Captain Brooks is hardly going to refuse."

"So it's settled then?" Eliza asked.

Yara gave a firm nod. "Well, I guess I better start packing."

* * *

 

Amaranthine was not a large town, but it was certainly not quiet. Yara gazed through the crowded streets, filled with awe as Adam guided their horse through the narrow ways. She had never left Viren's coastal home, and the town was a complete novelty. Being summer, the air was humid and sticky, and the stench of raw sewage from blocked drains was overpowering. Still, it didn't stop her looking around, admiring the various shops and chatter of the townsfolk.

She listened to the merchants hawking their wares, keeping her hand on the parchment in her pouch. Viren had very kindly written a letter to the mercenary captain, which was sure to earn the woman's approval. That, accompanied by a tearful farewell and some additional tonics and clothes, were all she had to remember the kindly healer and his daughter. Both had also insisted that she need not return to pay them, although that was exactly what Yara planned to do. Viren had risked a lot to keep her under his care for so long, and even though gold would barely compensate their efforts, it would be something at least.

Now however, for the first time in over a year, she was let loose to do what she wanted. She hadn't a lot to go on, but Viren had told her as much as he could. Apparently a fellow apostate mage had brought her to him, although she had declined to tell him her name. She had raven hair and amber eyes, and a rich Ferelden accent, meaning she hailed from the far south. That scarcely narrowed her search, but it was a start.

"Ah, I'll bet they're in the tavern," Adam said, pointing ahead to a two-tiered building named ' _The Black-Tailed Fox'_. "Keep an eye on your purse, by the way."

Yara nodded, letting Adam steer their horse to the front of the tavern. They dismounted, and Yara took a moment to stretch her legs. Riding was another thing she had forgotten, and even after Eliza's lessons she wasn't confident to try it alone. Lacking in that skill could work against her, but she hoped Viren's letter would make up for it.

Adam pushed his way through the main entrance, and Yara followed suit. The place was bursting, and she wasn't sure how she was able to remain without being crushed. The scent of stale sweat, hot food and strong ale were enough to make her gag, but she clamped her teeth together and swam through the patrons. She kept a hold of Adam's jacket, in case they became separated.

"Over there," Adam said, nodding to the far right corner. Yara glanced over, and spied out a tall woman with very short hair leaning against the wall. She overlooked a pair of mercenaries, who were somehow managing to play a quiet game of cards amidst the chaos. All bore the same mark on their shoulder; a pair of crossed blades surrounded by a sun.

"Captain Eva!" Adam called out, extending his hand in greeting. The woman looked up from her mug, and broke into a grin.

"Well, if it isn't Master Mason, all grown up and playing soldier," she greeted, taking his arm. "Major Vance told me you'd joined the guardsman training. Good on you!"

"Thanks," Adam answered. "So how're you and the gang?"

"We're doing good, having a bit of a quiet stint lately," Captain Eva admitted. "But I can't complain, we finished a big job last month and we've earned a break." She tapped the mercenary sitting before her. "Though I think Petra might have just lost all her earnings in the last two hours."

"Hey, I can play this game as good as anyone else!" Petra snorted, glancing down at her cards.

"Glad to see nothing's changed," Adam smirked. "Anyway, I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

"If it's about the better way to hold a sword, wait 'til you've become fully qualified," Captain Eva said. "Major Vance will be after my blood otherwise."

"Actually, it's for my friend here," Adam went on. Yara quietly stepped forward, feeling extremely out of place. A deep discomfort had settled within her chest; she was clearly not a fan of being introduced to strangers. Especially when they could become her potential employers.

"Oh?" The Captain eyed Yara up and down, not impressed. "What's your name, pup?"

Yara froze. For some reason that nickname struck her, but despite the mix of warmth and sadness it stirred, her mind could not make sense as to why. As she wrestled back her frustration, she picked up on Adam's concerned gaze. She had to answer.

"Y-Yara," she managed to stammer.

Captain Eva nodded. "So then, Yara, what makes you feel you'd be a good fit for the Bronze Blades? I haven't recruited in a long time, and there's good reason for that."

"I...um..." Her mouth dry, Yara fumbled in her pouch, producing Viren's letter. "I've been with Healer Viren for a while, and he recommended that I seek you out."

"Old Healer Viren, huh?" The Captain took the letter and glanced over it. "I'm glad he's still doing so well. I owe him a lot." She then crumpled the parchment. Yara stiffened. "However, much as I admire the old man, I'm afraid I can't just take his word alone."

Adam opened his mouth, but the Captain shook her head. "I can't accept yours either, Adam. We take on some of the most dangerous jobs in Ferelden, and I need to be certain of the skills mix at my disposal."

"At least let her prove herself!" Adam protested. "Last I checked you didn't have any dual wielders, and she's amazing!"

"Is that so?" The Captain raised a brow, before turning to Yara once more. "It's certainly a difficult fighting style to master, albeit one more suited to assassins than warriors." She chewed her lip. "Petra, thoughts?"

"Mercer is a slimy cheating git," Petra scoffed, not looking up from her hand. "Oh, right, well we could use someone who're quick with a pair of blades. Jasper's getting on a bit these days and his reflexes aren't what they were."

"Can't argue with that," Mercer added, laying his winning hand on the table. "Apart from the cheating git part, of course. But not sure a dual wielder is what we need."

The Captain nodded, turning to Yara.

"It seems your vote is tied," she said. Yara felt her heart sink. So much for this avenue. "However, my second in command will need to voice his view, too. I'm not promising anything, but if he agrees, I might make an exception." She glanced over to the tavern entrance, frowning. "Where is Jasper, anyway? He said he was just going to find Fern."

She craned her neck, the noise of the tavern drowning out all else, when finally Petra snapped her fingers.

"Look, there he is!" She pointed to a burly man who had entered and was edging through the patrons. He easily towered above most of them, and sported a grey beard that matched his hair. He soon joined them, and he dropped an empty pack on the table, scattering the cards. Mercer scowled, but didn't voice his discontent.

"Boss, I've got bad news," he said gravely. "Fern took off, and he took the rest of our funds, too."

"What?!" Petra grabbed the pack, shaking it out, but nothing emerged. Her eyes flared. "That skanky low-life _bastard!_ I'm going to snap his neck sideways and shove it up his..."

"So where has our little thief run off to?" the Captain cut in, her voice as calm and level as it had been moment before. Yara wondered if she had been expecting such news all along.

"Off to Lake Calenhad, towards the Ferelden Circle Tower," Jasper reported. "He's due to meet a contact there, a Templar I believe. He's really gotten his hands dirty, hasn't he?"

"Too right. So we should make sure he's greeted appropriately," the Captain said. She turned to Yara. "Well, it seems a vacancy has opened up, my dear. Help us see that we pay Fern back for his treachery, and you can officially be a Bronze Blader."


	3. Chapter Three

The skies had darkened by the time the group approached Lake Calenhad. Yara sighed, resting against Petra’s shoulder as they rode towards the crystal waters. The air was thick with the scent of recent rain, and she pulled back her hood, fanning her sweaty face. It had taken three days to cross the wilderness; three days in which Yara had really had her eyes opened. Life outdoors was much harder than she’d thought, and she was more than grateful she hadn’t had to manage it alone.

Yet while she could’ve done without the stale diet and freezing nights in the open, the journey had rekindled a long dormant excitement. It was thrilling to be on the road, free to chose their own path and living off whatever they carried. As a former Grey Warden, Yara guessed she must’ve travelled widely, and she was slightly wistful she couldn’t recollect any of her former adventures.

The real challenge, however, had been the pockets of bandits that lurked the roads. Her first encounter had been an experience, facing an enemy who wouldn’t back off after a few playful strikes. It had been much trickier to counter their attacks, too. Thankfully Petra had been assigned as her cover partner, and she’d saved her from a nasty wound to the leg. Nonetheless, Yara was learning quickly, and she vowed she would not be a burden to the Blades. Besides, if she couldn’t cope _with_ their aid, she’d have no chance of travelling alone when the time demanded it.

Captain Eva halted the party at the next ridge. The rest of the hill sloped down to the banks, and Yara picked out a small jetty on the right side. Some old wooden buildings lined the lakeside on the left, and on the horizon loomed the silhouette of the Circle Tower. Her gaze lingered on the tower, awed by its impressive spire and ancient design. Mercer had explained that during the Blight the Circle of Magi had been overrun with abominations, until the Hero of Ferelden and her allies had cleared them out. Now the Circle was back to full strength, maintaining their tenacious relationship with the Templars appointed to guard them. The story fascinated Yara, and she wondered what kind of strength of will it had taken to face down such creatures.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Petra said, catching Yara staring. “For the Mages’ own protection, the Chantry preaches, but a cage is still a cage, no matter how pretty you make the walls.”

“So you don’t think we should have Circles of Magi?” Yara asked.

“Pfft, worst idea ever conceived,” Petra scoffed. “My sister was taken when she was four years old, just because she could make colourful sparks from her fingers.” She shook her head. “How can you do something like that to a child? I get that they need training, in case they summon a demon or whatnot, but to completely isolate them and lock them away? It’s not good. It just makes them antsy. Then they start dreaming of freedom, and either end up apostates on the run or murdered by Templars.”

“Viren did as much, and he seems to be left well alone,” Yara commented, recalling the stories the healer had shared during her long days confined to bed.

“That’s because he only uses his magic for healing, and nobody can rival his talent in all Ferelden,” Mercer piped up. “He’s pretty much made miracles happen, and he doesn’t deny anyone treatment who needs it, so the Templars are happy to overlook his status as an apostate.”

“I fear that’s not going to last much longer,” Captain Eva stated. “The Amaranthine Templars have started to become more...well, the Chantry will say ‘devout’, but I’d call it ‘cruel’, even by my standards. But we can debate that later.” She motioned to Yara, who sat straighter in the saddle. “This is your chance to show me what you’re made of, Yara. Since Fern will have no idea you’re with us, I want you to go to _The Spoilt Princess_ and find out if he’s arrived.” She pointed to one of the buildings on the left side. “Then I’ll need you to follow him to his rendezvous point with his contact.” She handed Yara a flask filled with dark liquid. “Once you have his location, break this flare bottle, and we’ll come running. Jasper is on the other side with Bree, so there’ll be no-where to escape.”

“Right.” Yara took the bottle, and gave her weapons a final check. It would be her first time solo; she needed to be careful. Petra gave an encouraging smile, while Mercer tipped his hat. Sighing, Yara squared her shoulders and set off down the hill. She felt very exposed, even though there were no people in sight, but she swallowed back her tremors. If she showed signs of fear, it would make her stand out even more.

As she walked along the bank, her boots sinking into the mud, a breeze snapped at her hair. With it came the heady scent of sodden reeds and stagnant water. The smell stirred something, and she paused, grasping her forehead. An image of the tower came to her, but lit beneath a crescent moon; not a full one like tonight. Her eyes widened. She’d been here before, lulled by a similar breeze, when she had gazed upon the tower for the first time…

The wonder was soon eclipsed by terror; not of her current mission, but something else. It was like being caught in a blizzard, feelings attacking her from all sides. Her pulse raced, her chest tightened, yet she could find no further image to associate them with. Only the lonely tower stood out to her, so familiar and yet so strange at the same time.

Growling, Yara closed her eyes, taking a breath and trying to grasp the threads of memory. Alas, once again they eluded her. Her eyes opened, and she cursed. Her mind was playing tricks, and she could not afford to get distracted. She swallowed back the torrent inside and stepped to the inn door. She had to focus. Bracing herself, she grasped the handle and pushed it open.

 _The Spoilt Princess_ was a far cry from _The Black-Tailed Fox_. It was practically barren, the one barman looking utterly bored as he dried off a mug that had probably not even been used. Only two patrons sat there, on tables furthest apart from each other. One was a stout man who was slumped back in his chair, snoring loudly, while the other was a lean figure in a hood. He guarded his glass of wine carefully, though it seemed he hadn’t taken a single sip. She couldn’t quite see his face, but she could make out the defaced brace on his wrist, signalling his former allegiance to the Bronze Blades.

Yara made an effort not to look at him directly, instead wandering to the barman. He set down his over-polished glass, seemingly relieved to see another customer.

“Hi, what can I get you?” he asked.

“Just an ale,” Yara said, though she had no plans to drink it. She couldn’t stand the stuff, as she’d crudely found out when Eliza had swapped her usual tonic for it one night as a joke. The thought made her sigh, and she absently rubbed the charm on her dagger sheath; one Eliza had crafted for her. She was already missing the girl dearly.

The barman nodded, uncorking a bottle and tipping it into a mug. Yara took it, watching the hooded man from the corner of her eye. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. The snoring drunkard woke up briefly, took another swig of his beer, before passing out again. Yara gritted her teeth, forced to take a sip lest she look suspicious. No sooner had the bitter liquid soured her tongue, however, than the hooded man rose. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, then left the tavern. Yara grumbled to herself, wishing she’d waited just a little longer before soiling her taste buds.

She remained at the bar counter, tapping her fingers for another five minutes, before she too got up. She hadn’t seen any horses tethered outside, so she was counting that Fern was going to meet his contact on foot.

Paying for the drink she’d barely touched, she returned to the cool airs of the lake. Fern was a little way to the west, heading to a patch of wild reeds; very close to where Jasper and Bree were supposedly hiding. Yara kept her distance, anticipating the thief’s path. However, he didn’t stop at the reeds. Instead he turned and began walking up the hill. Yara clenched her fist. There wasn’t much in the way of cover here.

Cautiously, she followed his path, her eyes never leaving him. Twice he looked back, and she had to hit the ground to avoid his line of sight. Her blades rattled, and she swore at herself for being so ill-prepared. She was definitely no rogue.

Thankfully Fern remained ignorant of her presence, and he didn’t bother checking for stragglers again. Yara made herself comfortable in the grass, watching as another figure came into view on the hilltop. Despite the darkness, there was no mistaking his bronze armour and the prominent sword emblem on the breast-plate. She edged closer, able to make out their muffled conversation.

“So, how much did you get off them?” the Templar asked, his arms folded.

“More than enough to pay for your next three shipments of apprentices,” Fern replied, reaching into his cloak and producing a heavy pouch. “And what about your end of the deal?”

“We’ll let Peter go once we’ve got the others across the border,” the Templar answered. “Even this amount might not cover everything.”

Fern growled, and withdrew the pouch. “I’m not paying until you hand him over right now!”

The Templar snarled, and drew his sword.

“I have a better idea; kill you and take the money anyway!”

He lunged, and Fern dodged. The thief grabbed his daggers, and at the same time Yara fumbled for the flare bottle. She quickly smashed it into the ground, and a brilliant light erupted. Fern cried out, suddenly blinded, and that gave the Templar the chance he needed. He ran his sword straight through Fern’s belly, and Fern choked out. The Templar roughly pulled his blade free, and Fern collapsed, blood pouring through his tunic. The Templar didn’t wait, making to run over the hill.

“Oh no you don’t!” Yara sprang to her feet, already running before the words had left her lips. Unlike her target, she wasn’t weighed down with heavy plate armour, and so easily made up the distance. She swiped her dagger, catching the Templar’s calf, and he yelped. He flung out his sword-arm, and Yara ducked, avoiding its edge. In return she swung her leg, knocking him off his feet. She then stomped on his wrist, breaking it, and he howled. His sword fell, and she kicked it aside, before holding her sword at his throat.

“W-Who are you?” the Templar stammered, his face wrought with pain.

“I should be asking you that,” Yara answered. “But I’ll leave the questions to my boss.” She pressed her foot on the Templar’s chest, and he coughed.

“Yara!” Petra was the first to arrive, her bow drawn. “Are you alright?”

“Calm down, Pets, can’t you see she has the situation under control?” Mercer chimed. He stood over Fern’s body, and sighed. “Dumb kid. He was too desperate.”

“And thus he paid the price for it,” Jasper said. There was no sympathy in his tone. “Good work, Yara.”

Yara nodded, as Captain Eva also appeared. She gave Yara a nod of approval, before striding forward. Yara stepped aside, and the Captain grabbed the Templar by the neck. She hoisted him upright, and his eyes widened. His right hand lay limp.

“P-Please, don’t kill me!” he begged.

“That depends whether I like what you have to say,” the Captain answered. “So tell me, ser, why is a lowly Templar out here and not keeping his toes warm with the Mages this fine night?”

“It’s nothing to do with you!” the Templar spat. The Captain sighed. With her free hand she took his broken wrist, then yanked it back. The Templar shrieked, his eyes watering.

“Perhaps, but I’m sure there are many authorities who’d like to know what you’ve been up to,” Captain Eva went on, unperturbed by his display.

“It...It was Ser Levran’s plan!” the Templar confessed, keeping his right arm rigid. “He...wanted more apprentices, but the Kirkwall Knight-Commander found out and wouldn’t let him! He needed a fresh supply from elsewhere!”

“You were _trafficking apprentices to Kirkwall?!_ ” Petra stormed forward and threw a savage punch. The Templar choked, the breath knocked from his lungs. “How bloody _dare_ you call yourself a Templar!”

“Petra,” Captain Eva said, like a mother reprimanding a child for not saying ‘thank you’. Petra scowled, but ceased her assault. “Where is this Ser Levran?”

“I...I don’t know,” the Templar gasped. Petra readied her fist again, but he shook his head manically. “I swear I don’t know!”

“Fine,” the Captain said. “So where are the apprentices?”

“By...By the lake, the southwest bank,” the Templar said. “They’ve been drugged, there’s only two others guarding them!”

“Finally, something useful,” Jasper sighed.

“Look, I’ve told you all I know!” the Templar pleaded. “Now just let me...”

He never finished his sentence. The Captain let him fall to the ground, and Petra finished him off with her knife. Yara winced. It was a punishment well deserved, but even so…

“Right, well that just explains half the story,” Jasper commented. “Still not sure why Fern thought this was worth getting involved in.”

“He mentioned someone called Peter,” Yara said. “He wanted their freedom at any cost, it seemed.”

“I see.” The Captain stroked her chin. “Well, let’s pay these poor apprentices a visit and get them on their way.”

She headed off in the direction the Templar had said. Petra and Bree fell behind her, while Mercer and Jasper cleaned up the mess. Yara remained with the latter, helping to strip the bodies.

“Not a bad job, Yara,” Mercer said, reclaiming the heavy pouch of gold. “Though your stealth could use some work.”

“You did better than I expected,” Jasper added, prizing off the Templar’s armour. “From all appearances you don’t seem nearly as capable, and that works to your favour. I’d wager most would sorely underestimate your abilities.”

“Um, thanks?” Yara was unsure whether to take his words as insult or compliment. Whatever the case, she sensed that the Captain’s second in command was not easily impressed. She would do well not to get on his bad side.

“There,” Mercer said. “Let’s go catch up to the others.”

They headed down the hill, and sure enough spotted the others at the bank. They had taken care of the guards, who lay slain in the reeds. They were not Templars, and their clothes suggested they hailed from the Free Marches. A tiny boat was also tethered there, overloaded with young apprentices lined side by side. As the Templar had said, most appeared asleep, but Petra was in the process of waking them up with some well-placed splashes of water. As the apprentices shook off their drugged stupor, horror filled their eyes.

“How...How did we end up…?”

“It’s alright, you’re free now,” Petra said kindly. “A Templar was planning to ship you off to Kirkwall, but we stopped him in time.”

“A Templar?” One of the apprentices frowned, his black hair slick with water. “The last thing I remember was Ser Danford asking if we wanted to share a drink, and then...” His eyes widened. “By the Maker, what was that sick, twisted fool thinking?!” He turned to Captain Eva. “I cannot even begin to think where to thank you for this. How did you chance to come across us?”

“A rat led the way,” the Captain said. “Nothing personal, but one of my men decided our hard-earned cash was worth trying to buy the freedom of one of you, and I didn’t agree.”

The black-haired apprentice gasped. He stared at the mercenary symbol on the Captain’s shoulder, as recognition slowly dawned.

“Wait, you’re the Bronze Blades?” He began to shake his head. “No….surely Fern didn’t believe...” He sighed. “I’m so very sorry about this.”

“What do you mean?” Petra asked.

The apprentice sighed. “It’s a bit of a long story, but to cut it short, my good friend Peter risked becoming an apostate as he suspected the Templars were up to something involving new apprentices. He used to write me letters, and he was close to a mercenary thief who belonged to your group. Then, a few weeks ago, the letters suddenly stopped, and I feared the worst.”

“So Peter’s not here?” Yara asked.

“I’m afraid not,” the apprentice said. “He may very well be already dead.”

“Huh, so Fern was chasing a lie anyway,” Bree huffed. “Stupid boy. Just like him to panic like that. He should’ve said something.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Jasper said. “Even if he had noble intentions, he still betrayed us, but the Maker has seen fit to his punishment.” He nodded towards the Circle Tower. “We’ll take you back to the tower and let the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander know of the corruption in the ranks. The fact we’ve reclaimed what was ours is payment enough.”

“Thank you.” The apprentice turned back to the others, and they gathered along the bank. Jasper led the way towards the jetty that would take them to the Circle Tower, and the others fell in line. All the way Petra quietly seethed.

“This is disgusting,” she murmured to Yara. “Why does everyone think Mages are less than human? I bet Tevinter slaves have better treatment!”

“Tell me about it,” Yara whispered back. “But I don’t think rescuing one set of apprentices will deter the traffickers from trying again.”

“Ah, you’re sharper than you look,” Mercer added. “Kirkwall’s been a bit of a mess since they had to take on all those Ferelden refugees. Wouldn’t surprise me that their Templars were up to no good as well.”

“So we should look into it,” Petra said. “Find the leader of this ring of bastards and show him he’s not as big as he thinks he is!”

“Not sure the Captain will agree,” Bree cut in. “Kirkwall is a long way from here, and who exactly will be paying us?”

“I’m sure I can reach an agreement with the First Enchanter,” the Captain said; she had also been listening in. “He’ll want this matter seen to, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s letting these crooked Templars get away with whatever they want.”

“Aw, you always have a soft spot for dishing out justice to the corrupt,” Mercer commented.

“Maybe, but don’t let that rumour take hold,” the Captain answered. She turned to Yara, and gave a genuine smile. “Hope you don’t get seasick, Yara. Your next job is to find us a ship to Kirkwall.” She held out a hand, and Yara took it. “Welcome to the team.”  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Yara kept her head between her knees, trying not to focus on the lurching deck. She closed her eyes, taking controlled breaths, and ignoring the rising bile in her throat. Her back was pressed against the cabin wall, and her toes still touched the other side. Her stomach also churned, although she had yet to join Mercer and Bree. They’d spend most of the voyage at the stern, turning various shades of green.

They’d been at sea for two days, and were due to reach Kirkwall today. It wasn’t so much the movement that made Yara unwell, but she couldn’t stand being on such a tiny vessel. She made sure the cabin door was propped open, not caring for the wind and spray that chilled her face. It reminded her too much of when she’d been bed-bound; memories that still left her chest tight and body trembling. She just couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped, and she didn’t need to have a break down in front of her new allies.

She sighed, daring to raise her head and peer outside. Captain Eva was at the starboard rail, watching the waves slice past the ship. Despite the ebbing and falling deck, she kept a straight back, as if she were sailing on the calmest ocean. Yara found herself smiling, impressed with the woman’s resolve.

In fact, all of the Blades had made an impression on her, and she was glad for Adam’s recommendation. Each had their own tale to tell, and she’d spent a lot of the journey getting to know them. Mercer and Petra both hailed from Highever, former soldiers bored with the routine, while Bree was a Dalish elf whom the Captain had saved during a hunt gone awry. Jasper kept the most mystery, not willing to reveal much about himself. Yara had fished out he was originally from Denerim, and had drifted through several other mercenary companies before joining the Blades.

Yet it was the Captain herself who had the most fascinating story. She’d been raised a Templar after fleeing an abusive home, and had served Amaranthine for several years. However, when she’d been tasked to hunt down an apostate healer, it had made her reconsider her purpose. That healer had in fact been Viren himself, and they had struck up a strong friendship. Thanks to her intervening, Viren could continue his good work, although it had come at the cost of her rank. Still, that had not deterred her from founding the Bronze Blades, and five years on they were moving from strength to strength.

For all she’d learnt about her companions, however, Yara was still left with little about her own past. True, it was early days yet, but there was _something_ that had started to bother her since leaving Amaranthine. Every now and then, she’d been overwhelmed by flashes of darkness, along with a deep foreboding that sent her heart racing. The sensation disappeared within seconds, leaving no other ill effect, but its unpredictable nature troubled Yara a lot.

There was still so much she needed to figure out…

Captain Eva turned around, and caught Yara’s eye. Yara nodded, and the Captain came towards her cabin.

“I see you’re holding well,” she said. A wave hit the bow, sending spray everywhere. “The lookout’s just spotted Kirkwall on the horizon. We should be there within the next hour or so.”

“Thank the Maker,” Yara breathed. She made herself stand up, almost staggering into the wall as the deck tilted. It seemed her sense of balance still needed work. Grasping the walls, she slowly made her way out. The salty air and strong breeze laced through her hair, and she gazed towards the bow. Sure enough, a dark shadow sat beneath the overcast sky, and seagulls shrieked above, signalling the proximity of land.

It wasn’t a moment too soon when giant chains appeared through the mist, joining the enormous statues that flanked the entrance to the Kirkwall docks. They were bent forward, their hands covering their eyes, as if ashamed to acknowledge the dominating building towering behind them.

“The Gallows,” Captain Eva stated. “Once the capital for Tevinter’s slave trade, and now a prison to Kirkwall’s own Mages.”

“You’ve been here before?” Yara asked.

“A few times,” the Captain said. “Kirkwall certainly is unique, even amongst the Free Marches.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t expect them to welcome us, especially as they were hit worst by the refugees fleeing the Blight.”

“I don’t even think they will let us inside the city,” Jasper added. He was standing by the main hatch beside them. “The ship captain said they’ve not eased on their security restrictions, even though the Blight’s been over for more than a year.”

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Captain Eva answered. She clasped Yara’s shoulder. “Tell the others to prepare. We’ve got rogue Templars to hunt.”

* * *

 

“Eh, what d’ya want?” The elven woman glanced up from her crates, her expression sour. “Damned mercenaries.”

Yara swallowed, exchanging a brief glance with Jasper. As the Captain had predicted, the border guards had denied them entry, and so they’d split up to search for other avenues. She’d been paired with Jasper, and they were exploring the area around the main gates. The ship captain had suggested they approach the smuggler’s guild, who were stationed within the dock. However, judging by their reception so far, it wasn’t looking hopeful.

“We’re looking to enter Kirkwall on important business,” Jasper said. “We’re willing to let you have a piece of the cut, too, if you can get us in.”

“Ha, heard that one before,” the elf snorted, cleaning her hands on a soiled rag. “Trust me, whatever you’re offering, it’s not worth getting past those gates.”

“It’s not just for our sake,” Yara spoke up. “We’re trailing an apprentice trafficking ring, and they’re based in the city.”

“Not my problem,” the elf shrugged.

“All we’re asking is entry to the city, and we will sort the rest ourselves,” Jasper growled. “Have you no compassion at all?”

“Compassion?” The elf’s eyes narrowed. “I gave plenty compassion when your refugees flooded our docks, begging for a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. And I’ve seen what the city’s become since; a rotted husk stripped of whatever life it once held. I won’t give anymore.”

“You’re being too harsh!” Yara protested. “You’d just turn your back on those apprentices who don’t even want to be here, facing Maker-knows what?”

“Your sob stories aren’t going to work on me,” the elf said. “Try asking someone who’s not been…”

“Hey, why the long face, Athenril?”

A new voice broke through, and Yara and Jasper turned around. Two women had joined them, carrying a large box between them. The first lady was tall, with medium-length brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a pair of short blades strapped to her back. The other was slightly shorter, her hair longer and more curled, and she wore a red neckerchief. She also carried an elegant oak staff, and Yara raised a brow. How was a Mage able to walk around so freely?

“Oh, it’s nothing that need concern you, sera Hawke, Bethany.” Athenril dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Did you find it, then?”

“That, and more,” the woman named Hawke replied, smirking as she dumped the box beside the crates. Bethany, however, was paying more attention to Yara. She strode over, her eyes concerned.

“I thought I overheard you say something about trafficked apprentices?” she asked.

“That’s right,” Yara said. “Templars were bribed to ship them here from Ferelden’s Circle, to a man named Ser Levran.”

Bethany’s jaw clenched. “That’s horrible!” She cast a dark glance to Athenril. “And you’re not going to help them stop this?”

“I told you, it’s not my problem,” Athenril shrugged. She stood straighter, and looked the young Mage in the eye. “Look, I supply our Templars with plenty of items, and I don’t want to get on their bad side if I can help it. What they _do_ with my shipments once it’s out of my hands has nothing to do with me.”

Bethany’s eyes widened. “Wait, have _you_ been…”

“Oh, don’t even go there,” Athenril said. “I smuggle things, not people. I haven’t changed my policy since you completed your uncle’s debt to me, you know.”

Her words still made Bethany bristle, but she kept quiet. Her distress wasn’t unnoticed, however, and Hawke’s gaze softened. She abandoned the box and walked over, folding her arms.

“Apprentice trafficking does sound pretty awful,” she said. “Does make me wonder, though, why Ferelden’s Circle didn’t send their own Templars to investigate?”

“We were already involved,” Yara said, “so the First Enchanter was happy to let us deal with it.”

“And it’s not like the Templars here would be willing to help,” Bethany added, her tone dark. “They’d turn a blind eye, like they always do when a Mage is in trouble.”

“Mind not speaking that thought so loudly?” Athenril sighed, casting a furtive look at the shadows. “You’re lucky they still haven’t come after you yet.”

“Let them try…”

“Either way,” Jasper broke in, “if you don’t want to help us, then we’ll be moving on.”

“Hey, I never said that,” Hawke said, holding up her hand. “I can’t say I’m a big fan of the Templars anyway.” She nodded at Bethany. “We’d be happy to give you a hand.”

“And what do _you_ want in return?” Jasper asked, frowning.

“Ah, well.” Hawke smiled, rubbing the back of her neck. “That cut you were offering Athenril wouldn’t hurt.”

“Hmph.” Jasper glanced to Yara. “I think we’re wasting our time.”

“And I think we need to take whatever chances we’re offered,” Yara argued. “Otherwise the traffickers will move on and we’ll have nothing to show for our efforts.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. Yara clenched her fist. How could he be so obstinate? Perhaps it was a risk to trust them, but when they had no viable alternatives, they needed to seize the opportunity.

Eventually Jasper sighed, and he gave a nod.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll accept your offer, sera Hawke.”

“Call me Amber,” Hawke said. She clasped her hands on Bethany’s shoulders. “And this is my sister, Beth. You won’t mind if she tags along, too?”

“So long as you’re not going to be charging extra,” Jasper grumbled.

“Ah, such a sense of humour!” Hawke grinned. She nodded to Athenril. “So, is it too cheeky to ask for a bonus for taking these two off your hands?”

Athenril threw her soiled rag at her.

* * *

 

Yara grimaced, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth. The dim passages were absolutely rank, and she swatted the flies that swarmed around. Hawke had easily gotten them inside, although she unfortunately couldn’t do the same for the rest of their companions, since it looked too suspicious. Once beyond the gates, Hawke had then spoken to one of her contacts, who had mentioned some Templar movements in Darktown; the underbelly of Kirkwall. It didn’t surprise Yara that the corrupted Templars would base their operation in such a place, but it didn’t make it any less unpleasant. She hoped the whole ordeal would be over soon.

“So gross,” Bethany muttered, adjusting her neckerchief so it covered her lower face. “Those poor apprentices. I can’t imagine what they must be going through.”

“Seems a bit much, even for the Templars,” Hawke added, leading the way through the corridors. “It’s not like Kirkwall is short of apprentices, either. Why ship them from Ferelden?”

“Amber!” Bethany scolded. “You’d wish the same thing on Kirkwall’s apprentices? They could be being tortured for all we know!”

“Hey, it was just a thought,” Hawke shrugged. “I wonder if Knight-Commander Meredith knows about this.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she did,” Bethany scoffed. “She hates our kind.”

“Either way, let’s find this Ser Levran and see what he has to say for himself,” Yara said. It seemed Mage-Templar relations were strained enough here, even without the traffickers. As an apostate, Bethany had indeed been lucky to keep her freedom so far.

“I like that plan.” Hawke drew one of her blades, and quickened her pace.

They descended some narrow stairs, the wooden planks creaking under their weight. The light almost disappeared, so Bethany conjured a small orb to help them see. Yara kept close to the Mage, studying the surroundings. This part of the town looked different. Abandoned mine carts and broken rails littered the ground, and several passages were blocked by cave-ins. Relics from when the city had been under the Imperium’s control.

Abruptly Yara’s vision wavered. She paused, for a moment losing her sight. Her heart started to pound, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Then a piercing shriek echoed, and she shuddered, suddenly cold.

“Yara?”

Yara blinked, and the coldness vanished. Bethany stood by her side, looking worried.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yara said, shaking her head. “Sorry.”

Bethany didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. They walked faster, catching up to Hawke and Jasper. Yara let out a breath, wiping her brow. The flashes were getting more frequent; she would need to keep an eye on things.

Hawke and Jasper had stopped at a fork in the passage. Light came from the left-hand side, while the other went further into darkness.

“Three guesses which way those Templars are lurking,” Hawke commented, gazing towards the darker tunnel. However, as she made towards it, a scream came from the other side. Yara gasped.

“We must be close,” she said. “Come on!”

She drew her blades, taking the lead. Bethany drew her staff, and extinguished her light. Yara strode briskly, taking care not to make too much noise. Thankfully the tunnel was short, and they emerged onto a platform that overlooked another cavern. This was also lined with mine carts and piles of rubble; a deeper part of the ancient mine. The scream came again, much louder, and Yara felt the bile rise in her throat.

“So the bird sings!” cackled a Templar. He was standing over a woman, her clothes all but ripped off, her hands bound with chains. Her exposed skin was covered in bruises, her hair was dusty and matted, and there was blood on her thighs. He grabbed her by the hair. She cried out, struggling, but she was no match. “You Fereldens last much longer than the Kirkwall lot.” He ran his finger under her chin. “Perhaps it was a good thing the Knight-Commander banished us…”

“Stop this!” Yara leapt down from the platform, charging at the Templar. She kicked him in the chest, and he went flying. She didn’t wait, thrusting her sword through his neck. His howl died on his lips, and he fell limp.

“Intruders!” another Templar cried. He made to attack, but Bethany caught him with a lance of flame. Jasper and Hawke split up, dealing with the remaining men. Yara glanced around, spotting one Templar trying to flee into the caves. She sheathed her swords, breaking into a sprint.

The Templar was fast, and more familiar with the layout of the caves. Yara pushed herself harder, desperate to make up the distance. Torchlight flickered past her vision, outlining barred rooms and puddled passages. The entire place was a maze; she could not lose track of her target. It seemed hopeless, but then the Templar abruptly halted. A rock fall blocked his way—perhaps it had only happened recently. Swearing, he turned, his sword drawn.

“How the hell did you find us?” he hissed. “This is none of your business, mercenary!”

“It’s not your business to be abusing apprentices, either,” Yara shot back, bringing her swords back to hand. “Just what do you hope to gain?”

“I don’t have to answer you,” the Templar snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

He lunged, and Yara caught his blade with her own. He was very strong, and her boots skidded in the dirt. Knowing she couldn’t hold, Yara yielded slightly, before twisting and throwing him aside. The Templar kept his footing, aiming another strike that scratched her gauntlet. Yara withdrew, quickly countering. She scored a cut across his face, and the Templar yelped. Pressing her advantage, Yara sliced at his thigh, and he cried out. She raised her dagger, ready to deliver a final blow, but a voice cried out.

“Wait, don’t kill him!”

Yara hesitated, but the Templar seized the distraction. He tackled her, and she fell to the ground. She kept hold of her blades, but the Templar pinned her arms down. He dug his fingers deep, enough to bruise. Yara growled, curling her knees upward, before kicking out. The Templar lost his grip, and she threw all her weight against his chest. He went backwards, smacking his head against the rock. He fell still, and Yara pressed her dagger at his throat, her brow drenched in sweat.

Footsteps rushed behind her, and Bethany and another apprentice appeared. The latter was coated in cuts and scrapes, his face sticky with dried blood.

“Thank the Maker, he’s still breathing!” he exclaimed. Bethany raised a brow.

“Why would you want the man abusing you to be spared?” she asked.

“Only for now,” the apprentice said. “That’s Ser Levran, the mastermind behind this. He’s got more of us imprisoned around here. We have to get that information first.”

“I see.” Yara moved off the unconscious Templar, and sheathed her blades. “Do you know why he’s been doing this?”

“He’s a deranged fool,” the apprentice spat. “He used to take Kirkwall apprentices and do the same, until the Knight-Commander found out and banished him from the Order.” He shook his head. “Some people just have a penchant for abusing their power.”

“Disgusting piece of filth!” Bethany growled, her hand twitching. “I’d burn the flesh off his bones right this instant if you didn’t need him.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough, Beth,” Hawke called, sauntering in. Her armour was bloody, but she kept her cheerful demeanour. Jasper remained behind, removing the chains from the remaining victims. “We’ve freed the apprentices here, so let’s find the others and help them get home.”

* * *

 

“Yara, a word, if you please?”

Yara glanced up from her drink, thankfully not ale this time. Jasper’s eyes were narrowed, and he nodded to the tavern exit. Hawke had insisted on treating them, but it was clear Jasper was keen to get going as soon as possible. He’d been shifting on his seat, and had barely touched his rum.

“Of course.” She bowed her head politely to Bethany. “We’ll be back soon.”

Bethany nodded, and Yara stood from the bench. She followed Jasper outside, returning to the cool sea breeze. Once there, Jasper perched on a barrel and folded his arms.

“It was a mistake to get them involved,” he said abruptly. Yara blinked. That had come out of no-where.

“But they helped us out a lot,” she said. “Even if we’d found a way into Kirkwall without them, we’d have been lost in Darktown.”

“We’d have been just fine with the rest of the team,” Jasper argued. “Now we owe them, and it wasn’t like the First Enchanter was offering much. We’ve been cheated for no good reason.” He lowered his voice. “Which is why we need to eliminate them.”

“What?” Yara’s eyes widened. “After everything they did for us?!”

“You’ll have to learn this lesson soon enough, girl,” Jasper said. “If we go around accepting outside help all the time, we’ll be left penniless. What we get is barely enough to share between the six of us, let alone every other opportunist that wants to line their pockets.” He glanced back to the tavern. “ _They_ don’t have to pay for the return trip to Ferelden, or worry about their next job.”

“But to _kill_ them?” Yara asked. “It seems too extreme.”

“If we try to slip away, they’ll either come after us, or tarnish our reputation,” Jasper said. “Neither of which will do us any favours. It’s the only way, girl. Nobody will ever know the truth. We can say the traffickers got them.” His gaze darkened. “Do this, Yara, and I’ll never question your loyalty to us again.”

Yara froze. She clenched her teeth, her blood boiling. An ultimatum, and an extremely unfair one at that. She knew the Captain wouldn’t stand for this behaviour, but what could she do? The others were still on the other side of the city gates, and there was no way she could escape Jasper on her own. Also, if she alienated herself from the Blades, she would have no-where else to go. Not when friends and familiar faces were so far away. And she would have no other way of regaining her lost memories.

She let out a defeated sigh.

“What do you propose we do?”

* * *

 

As the sun began to set, Yara set off briskly towards the slums of Lowtown. Jasper was following a ways behind, ready to assist when needed. He had given her a detailed plan, stating he would take care of any residing evidence, but even now she remained hesitant. Despite their short time together, she had grown to like Hawke and Bethany. They had both proven capable fighters, and did not deserve such punishment for helping them out.

She wrinkled her nose. If this had been Jasper’s plan from the start, why had he bothered to accept their offer? And judging from his grasp of the situation, this was not the first time he’d done something like this. She didn’t want to believe Captain Eva was aware of his behaviour and was letting it slide, but it was too convenient. There was no way he could’ve hidden this for so long.

How had she been so naïve?

The stench of the slums wasn’t quite so overpowering, as the sea breeze carried most of it away. People skulked in alleys, watching Yara as she strode towards the foundry district. She ignored their stares, but kept a careful eye for suspicious movement. Faint clangs of machinery echoed ahead, signalling she was in the right area. She’d arranged to meet with Hawke and Bethany here, stating she had to discuss terms of payment with their Captain first. Of course no such discussion had taken place; she was merely a distraction, while Jasper would attack from the shadows.

At last she descended a set of stairs. The heat was instantly noticeable, and sweat pooled at her neck. The fumes of the foundry gases were also strong, and she coughed.

“Ah, here she is!” Hawke beamed. She and Bethany were sitting on the steps to one of the buildings. They rose as Yara approached, and Hawke extended her hand. “So, how’d the talk go?”

“Well enough,” Yara said. Her stomach was in an uncomfortable knot, and she swallowed.

“So where’s your buddy?” Hawke glanced around. “Too shy to come out and say hello?”

Yara took a breath. She looked to Hawke, her voice hardening.

“Listen to me, you’re both in danger.” She couldn’t go through with this. “You need to get out of here, right now, before he…”

She was cut off as Bethany cried out. Jasper had made his move all right. His arm was around her neck, and he held a knife against her side.

“Hmph, I knew you’d chicken out,” he said. Bethany struggled, but he tightened his grip, and she gasped.

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing?!” Hawke drew her blades, her eyes livid. “Let her go _right now_!”

Jasper snarled. He raised his knife, meaning to plunge it into Bethany’s side, but Yara was quicker. She slashed her sword, forcing Jasper to block. Hawke immediately charged, driving her dagger deep into the man’s forearm. Jasper hissed, losing his grip, and Bethany broke free. Moments later her staff was in hand, and she threw a bolt of fire. It burned Jasper’s arm, and Hawke made to strike again.

Jasper caught her dagger, wrenching it off her. Hawke stumbled, and he lunged, the blade ready to sink into her belly. Without thinking Yara threw herself in the way. The dagger tore through armour and skin, but pain was nothing as Yara swung her sword once more. Jasper was knocked back, and Bethany set her staff aflame. She slammed the staff’s blade into Jasper’s face, and he shrieked. Blinded, he scrambled for his sword, but Hawke smacked it out of his hand. He collapsed to the ground, where Yara plunged her blade through his stomach. He groaned.

“Insufferable…traitor!” he croaked, blood soaking through his armour and onto the ground. He raised a shaking hand. “She’ll…never forgive you…and never…believe you…”

His arm fell, and his breathing ceased. Yara’s eyes widened, and she withdrew her sword. Her shoulder still bled, but she barely cared, her gaze locked onto Jasper’s body. The realisation of her actions was starting to sink in, and her hands trembled.

What had she done?

“Yara!” Bethany hurried forward. “Your shoulder…”

“It’s nothing.” Yara’s voice was quiet. “Maker, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re saying sorry for saving our hides? Not buying that,” Hawke said, replacing her daggers. “Still, is this how your band operates? No wonder you don’t get much work in Ferelden.”

“I…no,” Yara said. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she had to sit. Bethany remained at her side, supporting her. The Mage unfastened her neckerchief and tied it around Yara’s injured shoulder. Yara didn’t move. She could only stare at the ground, filled with regret. It needn’t have come to this. She could’ve sent Hawke a warning message, found the Captain and explained the situation, found _any_ excuse to get away…

He didn’t have to die!

“Amber, can’t you see she’s in shock?” Bethany said. “This wasn’t her idea at all!”

“Could still be a good act,” Hawke answered. “We hardly know them, Beth. How do we know the rest of your friends aren’t waiting for us back at Lowtown?”

“Yara tried to warn us!” Bethany countered. “Why would she have done so if there was another ambush waiting?” She shook Yara’s shoulder. “Yara, please, say something! Tell me I’m right?”

Yara let out a sigh.

“It…It was Jasper’s idea to kill you, so he wouldn’t have to share the payment,” she said. “I…I was too cowardly to talk him out of it.” Her fists clenched. “But if this is how the Bronze Blades works, then I want no more part of it.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re going to trust you much now,” Hawke said. Bethany glared at her, and she dropped her flippant tone. “Look, I’m really sorry. I can see Jasper forced you into this, and I’m grateful you decided against it. Not many would bother to look out for those they barely know, especially when their own livelihood was at risk.”

Yara gave a slow nod. It _had_ been the right thing to do, she knew. But what good was this nobility when it left her stranded? As Jasper had gloated, Captain Eva would not believe she had acted in the best interests of others. To her it would be no better than cold-blooded murder, and of her second-in-command as well. She would take revenge—a life for a life—and that would be the matter finished. In a single sword-strike, Yara had ruined all of her future plans, and any hope of uncovering her shrouded past.

Bethany touched her arm, her gaze sympathetic.

“So, what will you do now?” she asked.

Yara winced. The mage’s words made it all so final.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I expect the Blades will come after me. But even if I escape them, I’m…all alone now.”

Bethany frowned.

“No, I won’t let that be,” she declared. “Not after what you’ve done for us.” She turned to Hawke. “Amber, can’t we bring her along for the expedition?”

Hawke chewed her lip.

“We could,” she began, “but it’s not just down to me, remember? Bartrand might kick up a fuss. Scratch that—he _will_ kick up a fuss.”

“But the extra job we did for Athenril’s given us enough for the pay-in,” Bethany said. “And we were planning on asking Aveline, but she can’t leave the city now she’s been promoted to Captain of the Guard.” She glanced to Yara. “We need someone who’s good with a sword. We can talk Bartrand into it!”

“Bethany, it’s alright,” Yara said, moved by her persistence. “I got myself into this mess. You don’t need to help me get out of it.”

“I won’t let you face a punishment that’s undeserved!” Bethany snapped. “All my life others have given their all to protect me, and I don’t find such gestures meaningless. You sacrificed too much to save us, and I’ll not see that favour unreturned.”

“Whoa, alright, no need to get all sentimental,” Hawke said, raising her hands. She knelt beside Yara, her gaze softening. “Well Yara, it’s up to you. I also don’t want to send you back to those mercenaries if all they’re going to do is crucify you for doing the right thing.” She cleared her throat. “We’ve been in Kirkwall for almost two years, and we need money badly. Our best bet to fame and fortune is via a Deep Roads expedition set up by two dwarven brothers. They’re pretty assured we’ll find a lot of stuff, but you know how dangerous it is down there, so he’s looking for a strong party. We’ve made enough for the buy-in, and you’re more than welcome to come with us. Your mercenaries will never find you, and you might make some good cash too.” She offered her hand. “What do you think?”

Yara paused, considering her options. To head into the stronghold of Darkspawn was not a decision to take lightly, especially when there wasn’t any guarantee they would find anything of worth. But what was her alternative? If she remained in Kirkwall, the Blades would hunt her down and exact their punishment. And even if she found a way to escape to Ferelden, did she really want to live as a fugitive, forever watching her back, alone?

She closed her eyes. No, the Maker had set her on this path for a reason. She had to have faith things would work out.

She looked to Hawke, her jaw set.

“Count me in.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Bartrand glared at Hawke. She stared right back, still offering her money pouch that bulged from the weight of the coins inside. “You’re bringing another tag-along?!”

“What I’ve got more than covers her fee,” Hawke answered, “and she’s a skilled warrior, too. She’ll have no trouble against any Darkspawn.”

“We already have your sister for that,” Bartrand scoffed. “And how do I know she can be trusted? You literally just picked her up from the docks!”

“She won’t be any trouble,” Hawke insisted. “Besides, you said I could bring another companion. I’ll take responsibility for her. I’m not overstepping any lines here.”

The vein on Bartrand’s temper bulged, and he cursed. His brother, Varric, smirked.

“She’s right, you know,” Varric said, resting his hands behind his head. “And if this woman’s as good as they say she is, she’ll be more than worth her price.”

Bartrand growled.

“Damn it all, fine then!” He threw up his hands. “Bring your mother and your dog along as well, for all I care! We can make a picnic out of it!”

He snatched the coin pouch and stormed off into Hightown. Hawke watched him go, chuckling to herself.

“Well, that went better than I’d hoped.” She nodded to Yara, who’d observed the spectacle in stunned silence. “Looks like you’re in.”

Yara could only nod. She hoped this introduction wouldn’t be as short-lived as her last one.

“I hope Hawke warned you what you were signing up for,” Varric said. “It’s all fun and games ‘til a Darkspawn shows up and bites half your face off.”

“Oh, stop trying to make it sound so fun,” Hawke teased. “Don’t you worry, Varric. I pick my strays well.”

“A stray, huh?” Yara murmured, more to herself than anyone else. She supposed that had become an accurate description. Well, it was too late for regrets now.

“Better a live stray than a dead loyalist,” Bethany muttered. She touched Yara’s hand. “You’re with us now. Don’t forget that.”

Yara nodded, and managed a small smile. At least she wasn’t alone.

“So what happens now?” Hawke asked, pacing across the ground. “You’ve got everything you need, right? When do we sail off into the sunset?”

“Whoa, hold your horses,” Varric answered. “There’s still an important element missing, which we’ve saved until last.”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Great, this is where the hidden surcharges come out.”

“Now why would I bother doing that?” Varric shook his head. He dug into his jacket pocket, producing a slip of parchment. “You know we’re heading into an unexcavated part of the Deep Roads. It’s so uncovered, in fact, we don’t even know where the entrance is. So we’ll need a good map to pull it off.”

Yara blinked.

“You’ve been planning this expedition for how long,” she asked, “and you don’t even know where we’re _going_?”

“You make it sound like we have no idea what we’re doing,” Varric said. “Which might have a grain of truth to it, but that’s not the reason we’ve left it so long. It’s just been…complicated.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, it’s time to fix that, so listen up. I’ve been keeping tabs on a former Grey Warden who’s residing in Darktown, and he has what we need.”

“‘Former’ Grey Warden?” Yara asked. She felt for her pendant, which was warm against her palm. “I was under the impression you could never leave.”

“That’s generally true,” Varric conceded, “but it seems this guy’s a special case. Makes his living here as a healer, helping the Fereldens who wouldn’t otherwise have access to medicine. But he’s got what we’re looking for. So we need to convince him he’s helping a good cause.”

Yara clenched her fist.

“With words, I hope, and not swords,” she said sternly.

“And where did I mention the use of any force?” Varric asked. He let out a chuckle. “I’m a merchant by trade, Grim. I deal in diplomacy, not blood. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Grim?” Yara raised a brow.

“Oh, Varric’s always dishing out pet names,” Bethany said, waving her hand. “It means he likes you.”

“Got that right, Sunshine,” Varric grinned. Yara rolled her eyes, not impressed with his choice. No matter how accurate it was. “So, while Bartrand makes the last preparations, let’s pay this Warden a visit. Once we have our map, we’ll be on our merry way.”

* * *

 

Yara swallowed as they returned to Darktown. She couldn’t quite calm her tremors, and she stole furtive glances at the shadows. Two days had passed since Jasper’s demise, and she’d seen no further sign of the Bronze Blades. Nevertheless, she remained on high alert. Every glint of steel was a potential threat, and it was exhausting to keep checking her surroundings.

Yet even with that burden, a part of her remained excited. She was finally going to meet a fellow Grey Warden, and she was hoping it would trigger a memory. Something to compensate her for the reckless choices she’d been making recently. At the very least, perhaps she could ask some questions, particularly as he too had left their ranks and still lived to tell the tale.

The group halted before a set of wooden doors. Yara studied them, chewing her lip. They’d been built straight into the rock, forming a natural storage room. Men, women and children crowded outside, sitting amidst the rubble. Many sported physical wounds, while others were troubled by harsh coughs and fevered brows. Yara sighed, reminded of the bustle around Viren’s home. People flocked from all distances to see him, and she’d been astonished how he could see so many and still have time to care for her. It seemed the people here relied on this man similarly. Whatever his reason for fleeing the Wardens, Yara was impressed he was still serving a noble cause.

“Looks like this is it,” Hawke announced. She pushed through the waiting crowd, much to their irked stares, and opened the doors. Yara followed, looking around. The chamber was expansive, filled with tables and crates of healing supplies. A woman sat in the corner, tended by a Mage and his assistant. The Mage wore blue and brown robes, his sandy hair tied into a short ponytail, and rough stubble lined his cheeks. He was checking the woman’s left arm, which she held awkwardly. A soothing blue light escaped his hands, and the woman closed her eyes, eased of pain. The Mage then set the broken bone, and she winced. He nodded to his assistant, who came forward and tied some bandages into a sling.

“All done,” the Mage said, touching her shoulder. “Rest it for a few days and it should be back to normal.”

“Thank you so much!” The woman’s eyes lit up as she tested her finger movements. Smiling, she pushed herself off the table, retreating outside. The Mage let out a breath, giving a stretch, before he finally noticed the newcomers. He nodded to his assistant, who left for the other patients.

“Can I help?” His tone reflected he knew they were not there for treatment.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Varric said, striding to the fore. “Mind if we speak in private for a moment, Anders?”

The Mage frowned. “You know my name?”

“I have my sources,” Varric shrugged. “I also know who’s looking for you, and I can’t imagine it’s much fun hiding from the Wardens down here. So I have a proposition for you.”

Anders’s jaw tightened. “You seem to know an awful lot about me, considering we’ve never met.” He folded his arms. “Speak quickly, then. I’ve got plenty others waiting who actually need my help.”

“Hey, we’re not trying to threaten you,” Hawke said, her palms open. “We’re looking for a way into the Deep Roads, and word on the grapevine says you have just that. We were hoping to negotiate something.”

Anders’ eyes flared.

“You think you have the right to walk in here and make demands of me?” he snarled. “If the Wardens sent you, then you can tell them I’m not going back!” He reached for his staff, but Bethany caught his wrist.

“We don’t want to fight!” she said. “Look, the Wardens didn’t send us, and we’re not going to force you into anything.”

“Yes, we don’t expect to get something for nothing,” Yara added. “At least hear us out.”

Anders hesitated. He gazed across the group, before he finally let go of his staff.

“Fine, I’m listening.”

“You have some Deep Roads maps that we’re interested in,” Varric said. “That’s all we want, nothing more. So name your price and we’ll get out of your way.”

“My price?” Anders repeated. His shoulders relaxed, and he managed a smile. “Well, you should’ve said so at the beginning.”

“Told you there’d be a hidden surcharge,” Hawke muttered.

“I’m not interested in coin,” Anders said. He folded his arms. “But if you can help me with a small favour, the maps are as good as yours. Does that seem fair to you?”

“I expected as much,” Varric answered. “What do you need us to do?”

* * *

 

The Chantry was quiet in the midnight darkness. Yara approached the main doors with Hawke, followed by Varric, Bethany and Anders. Varric checked the nearby alleys, ensuring they were not followed. Meanwhile Hawke paused at the lock, her picks already primed. It didn’t take long before the tumblers clicked, and she quietly pushed the door open.

“All clear,” she whispered. Yara nodded, beckoning to the others, and they entered the building.

The first thing that struck Yara was the giant statue of Andraste. It took up almost all the main hall, and basked beneath the moonlit windows. The bronze glinted, depicting the prophet with both sword and stave. Yara had never seen anything so majestic—or perhaps she had, but could not remember. Still, the sight filled her with peace, and for a moment she could put her uncertainties aside. This was her path now. She would have to leave the rest to the Maker.

“He should be waiting around here,” Anders said, igniting his staff with a blue flame. His ‘price’, as it turned out, was to help him smuggle a Mage out of Kirkwall. Said Mage had already evaded the Circle, and just needed some extra help to make it the rest of the way to Ferelden. Anders hadn’t said why, but it was clear the Mage was someone close to him. It seemed a simple enough goal, but Yara wondered why Anders had delayed his rescue if he had been here for so long already.

“You know best,” Varric shrugged. “Lead the way, Blondie.”

Anders nodded, heading for the staircase that led to the upper chambers. Yara followed, plucking her dagger from its sheath. Her sense of peace was crumbling, and the quiet had suddenly become unsettling. Anders raised his staff, casting blue light over the red carpet and mahogany pews. He approached the eastern rooms, scanning the darkness. Abruptly a figure stirred, and Yara jumped. She reached for her sword, but Anders held out his arm, shaking his head.

“Karl, is that you?” he asked.

“Anders?” a man’s voice answered. Yara frowned. There was something odd about his tone.

“By the Maker, they didn’t…not to _you_!” Anders abandoned all caution and rushed forward. The light of his staff fell upon a man in Circle robes. Anders grabbed his shoulders, his face wrought with disbelief. Karl raised his head, and Yara stared. His eyes were so empty, so devoid of feeling or emotion. That could only mean…

“I am sorry, old friend,” Karl said, his voice flat. “There is nothing you can do for me now.”

Anders clenched his fist.

“Those bastards made you Tranquil?!” he spat, his arm shaking. “How dare they! I’ll make them pay!”

“Anders, you mustn’t…” Karl touched Anders’ chest. “They’re waiting for you outside, you shouldn’t have come here. They did this to me to draw you out.”

“ _Then they’ll all fall by my hand_!” Anders’ voice became charged. His eyes took on a ghostly glow, and the air turned thick. Yara’s breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred, and she dropped her weapons, grasping her temples. A sudden pressure wrapped around her chest, and she struggled to breathe. What was happening?

Then the Chantry hall disappeared, replaced by a dark chamber and the scent of burnt magic. Yara let her hands drop, frantically glancing around. The others had vanished, and she was stranded in a circular room. The floor was lined with the corpses, and her eyes widened. Where in the Maker’s name was she?

A low chuckle echoed from behind, and she glanced back. The shadows were formless, but there was _something_ pressing close to her. It was sapping her strength, begging her to lie down and rest. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Her eyelids began to droop, and she fell to her knees, overwhelmed. A lulling voice called to her, soothing and comforting.

 _It will be all over soon_ , it promised. _Have you not fought enough already? How weary you’ve become, my girl. Close your eyes, and I will let your troubles fall away…_

“Yara, snap out of it!”

Bethany’s voice rang through, and next Yara knew she was on the floor. Her left shoulder throbbed, and Bethany was on top of her. They were behind one of the pillars, still immersed in darkness. She could hear Anders yelling, and the clash of steel echoed through the Chantry.

“This is not the time to daydream,” Bethany chided. “It was a trap. There are Templars everywhere. We’re going to have to fight our way out!”

“R-Right,” Yara said, shaking her head. She pulled herself to her feet, wiping her brow. Her chest still felt heavy, and she took a deep breath, trying to dispel it. What had that been all about?

“We could use a hand sometime this week!” Hawke called, grunting as she fought off yet another Templar. “Honeymoon’s over, you two!”

Gritting her teeth, Yara brought out her blades, spying out the situation. Most of the Templars were on the lower ground, blocking the exit, although a few had ventured to the upper floor. Anders was a madman, ripping through them in a whirl of azure light, while Varric perched behind the pews, picking off Templars with his crossbow. Hawke was in the thick of it, surrounded by three men, her right arm bloody.

“Go!” Yara shouted, and she and Bethany ran into the open. Yara sprinted to the first Templar, sinking her sword into the gap in his armour. It was alarming how easy this had become, given how many Templars she’d fought recently. Bethany raised her staff, hailing a torrent of flame. It engulfed the men attacking Hawke, who seized the distraction and tackled one down. Yara pulled her blades free of her latest victim, before she descended to help.

“Here!” Bethany cast another spell, and Yara’s sword burst into golden flame. Grimacing, Yara struck hard, slicing through the Templar’s armour like paper. The man shrieked, and she drove her dagger home. Hawke followed suit, cutting down the other and kicking him aside. However, the Templars blocking the exit suddenly fled their post. They came at them as one, and Yara pushed Hawke aside. She wasn’t quick enough to dodge herself, and she cried out, caught in a storm of steel.

“ _Leave her_!” Anders thundered across the stairs, his body consumed by blue light. A blinding glare left his staff, and Yara was forced to shield her eyes. The Templars screamed—a horrible, inhuman sound—and then it was over. Yara heard them collapse, their armour clattering against the stone. Drenched in sweat, she opened her eyes again. Dark spots smeared her vision, but gradually they cleared, revealing a circle of dead Templars. More frightening, however, was that none of them sported a single wound. Anders stood above them, breathing hard. The blue aura around his body had faded, but his expression didn’t change.

“Vengeance has been dealt,” he growled. He looked up, and Yara swore she wasn’t looking at the same man.

“You’re no ordinary Mage, are you?” Hawke kept her daggers in hand, wary. “How in the Maker’s name did you do that?”

Anders ignored her. Instead he hurried back up the Chantry steps. Yara scowled, running after him. Whatever power he possessed had triggered something in her, and she was certain it had to be a memory from her past.

But how had he done that?

“Karl!” Anders cried. The man was slumped on the floor, his side covered in blood. Two Templars lay beside him, unmoving. “Maker, this should never have happened!”

“I know,” Karl said. Yara blinked. His voice sounded more natural, and not stilted as it has been earlier.

Anders’ eyes widened. “You’re back!”

“Not for much longer,” Karl said. “Your friend Justice forced open a connection to the Fade. It’s given me…some of myself, for a few moments.” His eyes filled with tears. “But I can’t go back to that, Anders. To not feel, to not desire or hope or despair, it’s a fate worse than death!” He grabbed Anders’ collar. “Please, just let me die. I will not live like a mindless puppet!”

“Karl…” Anders’ voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. I should have acted faster.” He gripped Karl’s hand. “I wish with all my heart I could turn back time and make amends, but I can’t. So I’ll let you join the Maker and find peace.”

“Thank you.” Karl smiled, and closed his eyes. Anders remained at his side, resting his hand over his chest. He hesitated for a long while, but then his shoulders slumped, and a light escaped his fingers. Karl stiffened, and then fell limp.

Yara turned away, resting against a pillar. Her stomach churned, and she held her forehead. Another innocent forced to die; another life that could have been saved. Her eyes glanced off the fallen Templars, and she shuddered. So much death and bloodshed, and all of it for nothing. Had the Templars been so desperate to lure Anders out that they’d descended to this? Turning an innocent Mage Tranquil, just to flush him out and take him to the Gallows?

Did the world truly fear Mages that much?

She sighed, closing her eyes. That wasn’t the only thing troubling her. The dark images of her earlier vision began to re-emerge, and she bit her lip. So intense had been her fear and confusion, so alluring that mysterious voice, yet still she could make no meaning out of it. Who, when, where, why? And how had it been awakened by Anders’ power, assaulting her for the first time out of sleep?

A hand touched her wrist, and she glanced up. Bethany’s brow was creased with concern.

“You okay?” she asked, casting an eye over her.

“I’ll live,” Yara answered, sheathing her blades.

“Maybe, but what happened back there?” Bethany persisted. “After the Templars broke in, your eyes just sort of glazed over and you passed out.”

Yara stared at the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “It’s never happened before.”

“You have some explaining to do, Blondie!” Varric cut in, striding out of the pews. Anders remained on his knees, his friend’s lifeless body in his lap. “I’m sorry for your friend and all, but where did that display of yours come from? No Mage I know has that kind of power.”

Anders let out a heavy breath. He was silent for a moment.

“You held up your end of the bargain,” he said eventually, easing Karl’s body to the floor. “I suppose you may as well know.” He turned around, his eyes back to normal. “You’re right, I’m not an ordinary Mage. I share my body with a spirit.”

“That’s convenient,” Varric snorted. “You didn’t seem the type to deal with demons.”

“Justice is not a demon!” Anders insisted. “He was my friend, and he was all alone with no way of getting back to the Fade. This was the only way that gave him a chance to survive. But it didn’t quite go as we planned. Now I don’t know where he ends and I begin. And he’s…not the same, either.”

“So your spirit-friend lends you his power from time to time?” Hawke guessed. “That’s how you wiped out half a platoon of Templars without leaving a scratch on them.”

“How do we know Justice isn’t controlling you?” Bethany asked, her eyes narrowed. “Mages don’t just become possessed without some consequence.”

“Oh, there _are_ consequences, for sure,” Anders said dryly. “But turning into an abomination isn’t one of them. And Justice has no more power over me than I do over him.”

“Is this why you fled the Wardens?” Yara asked, suddenly intrigued. The spirit’s power must have been the reason her memory had stirred. But did that mean she had a connection to it as well?

Maker, if only she could remember!

“Partly,” Anders replied. “Look, there’s no point getting into the details. It happened a long time ago.” He glanced to Karl’s body again. “I’ve failed here, but there’s still something important I must do.” He looked back to Varric. “I’ll give you your maps, but on one condition. You take me with you.”

Varric blinked.

“Ho, now that wasn’t in the bargain,” he said. “You can’t just change your terms like that…”

“Let him come,” Yara spoke up. Bethany raised a brow.

“Really?” she asked. Yara nodded, her jaw set. With this revelation, all her thoughts about the upcoming expedition could take a back seat. If the spirit possessing Anders _was_ linked to her past, then it was her best bet towards recovering her lost memories. And that meant wherever she went, Anders would have to follow. She would find no better opportunity.

“Well, it can’t hurt to have a Warden in the Deep Roads,” Hawke said, brushing back her hair. “I’m sure you’ve fought your share of Darkspawn in your time.”

“Whatever you want from me,” Ander said.

“Oh boy, Bartrand’s going to love this,” Varric muttered, shaking his head. “Alright Blondie. Bring us the maps, and you have a deal.”


	6. Chapter Six

_This place is not meant for those who dwell in the light. There is only a path of endless dark, and every step taken is that of trespasser. The ancient halls of the Deep Roads, the pride of the Dwarven kingdom, have fallen to corruption and ruin. The stone is heavy with Taint, and it sings to those with the same darkness in their blood. Nobody can resist its lure, but this time the song is silent._

_Instead it gives way to the mutterings of a fallen House, led into death by their esteemed Paragon. Hardly a trace of them remain, but still she has survived. Desperate to capture a forgotten technology, her lust for power has been all-consuming. Nothing remains of her heritage, yet her eyes remain keenly on her prize. Even its creator, turned a golem himself, cannot abide this, and calls for its destruction. It is an evil that should never have been born._

_Neither side concede their views, but only one can dominate. Blood is spilt, and the battle rages. Stone fights flesh, but despite its frailty, flesh prevails. The hammer lies abandoned, until it is lifted for the final time and the Anvil decimated. It will transform innocent souls no longer._

_The ground quakes; the darkness spreads. It is smothering, trapping the light and swallowing it whole. She cries out my name…_

_I can’t hear it._

* * *

 

Yara blinked, jolted from sleep. At first darkness met darkness, and she rubbed her eyes, disorientated. Slowly, her vision grew accustomed to the night, and she sat up from her bedroll. A breeze ruffled her hair, and she glanced around. Bartrand’s snores echoed from his tent, while the others lay scattered in the shelter of the mountains. They had set up camp near the Deep Roads’ entrance, and would be heading inside come the dawn. To either their fortune or their doom.

Shivering, Yara pulled her blanket over her shoulders. She stared at the dead embers of the fire, her heart pounding even as the images of the bleak passages faded. She took a breath, trying to calm her trembling hands. Since leaving Kirkwall, the visions had returned with a vengeance, and it had been all she could do to keep the others from noticing. But while some had become achingly clear, what she _really_ wanted continued to elude her. She had finally realised she had not been alone in these dreams, yet neither faces nor words would emerge from the haze. She was still adrift without clues, left to wonder who she had been, and if she would ever be the same again.

A shuffle caught her ear, and she looked up. Anders was also awake. He was resting on his hands, starting at the moon. For the briefest moment his eyes shone that ghostly blue, and her chest pulsed. Maybe the change in her dreams wasn’t as unexplainable as she thought.

Anders broke his gaze, looking at her instead. Yara swallowed, avoiding eye contact.

“Troubled by your dreams as well?” he asked, curling his arms around his knees.

“Perhaps,” Yara shrugged, her expression guarded. Though Anders only meant well, she didn’t feel comfortable around him. And she didn’t want Justice to provoke another vision.

“It’s a strange thing,” Anders chuckled. “I should be used to these darkspawn nightmares, yet they still overwhelm me.”

“Darkspawn nightmares?” Yara raised a brow.

“One of the joys of becoming a Grey Warden,” Ander said. “As part of our initiation, we’re…brought closer to the darkspawn, you could say. But even without an Archdemon wailing in my head, those creatures like to make themselves known from time to time. It’s something no Warden can escape. Even Justice can’t protect me from it.”

Yara murmured to herself, clutching her pendant beneath her shirt. So, those flashes of darkness that left her flushed and drained; were they a remnant of her life as a Warden? At least it proved beyond doubt that she was one. For all the good it did her.

“It sounds tragic,” she said, letting her arm drop.

Anders’ eyes narrowed.

“Yes. Especially when you’re not told any of this until after you’ve officially joined,” he spat. “Had I known the details, I might’ve thought twice about it.” He brushed back his hair. “But even I’d take this over being thrown into the Circle again.” His voice dripped with contempt.

“Was it really that bad?” Yara asked.

Anders scoffed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Yara frowned.

“That kind of thinking helps no-one,” she said. “Mages aren’t the only ones suffering in the world, you know.”

“And yet our burdens are ignored over and above the rest,” Anders answered. “The Chantry sees us as ferocious beasts, dangerous and uncontrollable; even more feared than the Qunari. And the Templars…” His eyes began to flare again, but before he lost control he put his head in his hands. A long silence passed, until he eventually looked up again, the glow vanished. “Forgive me. Karl’s death, I still haven’t…” He sighed. “We should rest. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

He slumped onto his bedroll again, his back facing the fire. Yara let her gaze linger, before she too lay back, staring at the stars. She supposed she shouldn’t have challenged Anders, but at least he had given her some valuable information. He hadn’t been particularly forthcoming about the Wardens, and Yara had not wanted to pry too openly in case she aroused suspicion. For if word got out that she was a rogue Warden acting outside the Order…

She closed her eyes, and let out a breath. Perhaps she was over-thinking it. After all, it wasn’t like she had left their ranks out of choice. But considering the lengths Anders had taken to evade them, the punishment for desertion could only be severe indeed. And even if they did take her back, it would leave her constrained and unable to seek answers. However terrible her accident, she had to know what happened, and who she had been before.

No matter the cost.

* * *

 

The Deep Roads passages were impossibly huge, and Yara was awed by the giant stone girders that kept the ceiling aloft. There must’ve been hundreds of tonnes of mountain pressing down on them, and yet they were able to stand beneath them quite comfortably. The way ahead led deep into darkness, and the sight prickled her memory.

She had walked such corridors before.

“Don’t gape too much, Grim,” Varric chided, noting her staring. “The Deep Roads might look pretty, but they’re still infested with your worst nightmares.”

“Yes, don’t let your guard down,” Anders added. “The darkspawn can spring from no-where, and if you’re not careful they can overwhelm you in seconds.”

“Good to know,” Yara said.

“Enough shootin’ the breeze,” Bartrand growled. “We need to take the eastern passages. Varric, take your friends and scout ahead. Report back if it’s clear.”

“Always letting me do the dirty work for you, eh brother?” Varric sighed. “Never mind. Hawke, Grim, Sunshine, Blondie, let’s go.”

Nodding, Yara fell into step with the dwarf, flanked by Bethany and Anders, while Hawke brought up the rear. The passage was partly blocked with rubble, so they carefully climbed over and entered the narrow opening. The light didn’t improve, so Bethany and Anders lit their staffs, casting an eerie glow on the bronze coloured stone. Their footfalls echoed deep, and Yara kept a grip on her dagger hilt. She studied the walls, which interchanged between naked rock and carved stone. The scent of dry earth heightened her sense of familiarity, and she bit her lip. As a Warden, she must have explored the Deep Roads at some point. But part of her knew her last visit down here had been different. It had not been for the sake of seeking darkspawn, but something more important.

“Quite breath-taking, isn’t it?” Bethany asked, breaking Yara’s thoughts. “But I’d hate to live without ever seeing the sky.”

“Must admit I’d get pretty tired of seeing the same ninety-nine shades of brown too,” Hawke commented.

“Hey, there’s _nine hundred_ and ninety-nine shades,” Varric argued.

“Still all looks the same to me,” Yara shrugged.

“Give it time,” Varric answered. “You’ll come to appreciate the subtleties eventually.”

“I find that observation surprising, coming from a dwarf born on the surface,” Yara mused.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t honour my roots,” Varric replied. “Anyway, you can see how easy it is to get lost down here. You have to have some system of figuring your way back.”

They continued further into the passage, eventually coming to a split. Varric rubbed his chin, before picking the right-hand corridor. The floor was badly damaged, and they had to jump a short gap. Then the passage widened into a chamber, held aloft by four giant stone pillars. Several doorways had been set into the walls, some blocked with debris, but even the ones accessible were sealed shut.

Yara approached the nearest one, inspecting the dwarven symbols. They meant nothing to her. As she made to turn away, however, something stirred. The faintest cry reached her ears, and she spun around, her gaze fixed on the door. Was it coming from behind it?

“What is it, Grim?” Varric asked.

Yara hesitated.

“Does…does anyone hear anything?” she asked.

“Apart from the deafening roar of my own heart, no,” Hawke said.

“Can’t say I can, either,” Bethany added. “Nerves getting the better of you, Yara?”

“Maybe,” Yara sighed, frowning. It could have been her imagination, but even so…

“Come on, we need to make it to the next chamber,” Varric said. “I don’t want to hear Bartrand belly-aching about how long we’re taking, and believe me neither do you.”

He took the lead again, and they entered the next passage. This was much wider, flanked with jutting pieces of rock, and littered with fallen pillars. Another chamber lay ahead, choked with shadows.

“You know, it’s awfully quiet down here, Varric,” Hawke said. “From what you were saying, I was imagining a sea of darkspawn waiting.”

“Oh, they’ll be on their way soon,” Anders said. “It’ll only be a matter of time before they sense us.”

“Wonderful, I’d hate to be disappointed,” Hawke answered dryly.

They emerged into the new chamber. Yara licked her lips, the taste of raw mana burning her throat. Bethany raised her staff, banishing the darkness. The stone here was cracked, smothered with veins of lyrium. The spirals glowed brightly, sprawling the walls in beautiful twisting patterns. More interesting, however, was that new doorways had appeared. They were adorned with dwarven runes, and unlike the ones before, remained open.

“Let’s give these a check, then we’ll head back,” Varric said. “Wouldn’t want any ambushes to catch us by surprise.”

“Right.” Yara paired up with Bethany, and they headed into the first room. It held some dwarven statues and loose minerals, but otherwise was empty. Still Yara could hear the cries echo, and she tried to ignore them. Why were they calling out to her?

“Are you sure you’re alright down here?” Bethany asked, tilting her head. “You seem very distracted.”

Yara sighed. She was starting to feel guilty that Bethany constantly worried over her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It might sound stupid, but I feel like I’ve been in a place like this before. And there’s just…something that doesn’t sit right.”

“Yeah, this place gives me the creeps as well,” Bethany said, drawing her staff closer. “I’ll be more than glad when this is done.”

They returned to the main chamber. Hawke and Anders were also back, similarly empty-handed.

“Well, at least we know the way’s clear to this point,” Varric said. “Let’s bring the others down.”

He made back towards the tunnel. Hawke followed, although Bethany and Anders spent a moment studying the lyrium veins. Yara sighed, turning away from the branching patterns, when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She stopped dead, and the almost-inaudible crying from before became a loud shriek. She yelped, covering her ears. Bethany gasped, while Anders stared at her.

“Yara, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Yara blinked, a cool sweat forming on her forehead.

“I…I’m not…”

“Everyone, get back!” Anders suddenly yelled. “They’ve sensed us!”

Yara scrambled, bracing her sword and unsheathing her dagger. For a moment there was silence, and then the shriek came—not in her head this time, but from the blackness ahead. Lumbering steps followed, and then a group of darkspawn burst forth.

Anders swore, readying a spell, while Yara bolted to the first genlock. Instinct took over and she yelled, swinging her sword. The darkspawn bellowed, meeting her strike, but she thrust her dagger between its ribs. It howled, and Yara slammed her knee into its belly. Doubled over, it dropped its weapon, and a final stab made it collapse. She snatched her blades free, soiled with blackened blood, and made for the next one. Anders cast a protection spell over her, and she sailed through the darkspawn, severing its head from its shoulders in a single blow.

At the same moment, her vision darkened, and her breath escaped her throat. No, not now!

_A golem towers over her, its glowing eyes filled with sadness, but also relief. The nightmare of his own creation has finally ended. He cannot express his gratitude that at last, he has been offered release. He turns, abandoning the destroyed Anvil, and steps towards the edge of the cliff. Towards the river of lava that even his body of steel and stone cannot withstand._

_“My purpose has been fulfilled,” the golem said. “You have my eternal thanks, stranger._ _Atrast nal tunsha. May you always find your way in the dark.”_

The vision ended. Yara shook her head, returned to the darkspawn corpse she was standing over. Varric and Hawke were dealing with the remaining creatures, pushing them back, but then Bethany yelped. She was on the ground, a darkspawn on top of her, her staff broken.

“Beth!” Hawke tried to disengage the darkspawn she was fighting, but it roared, throwing itself onto her.

“I’m coming!” Yara sprinted to Bethany, the vision forgotten. The mage tried to conjure a ball of flame, but the creature still lunged, tearing her sleeve. Yara snarled, jumping onto the genlock’s back and sinking her dagger into its neck. The darkspawn thrashed, trying to throw her off. Yara held on, ignoring the claws that raked her armour. Raising her sword, she slammed it through the beast’s gnarled back. Blood poured from the wound, soaking her gauntlets, and the darkspawn gurgled. It fell to the floor, and Yara withdrew her weapons.

Bethany sank to her knees, clutching her wrist. Yara hurried to her, draping her arm around the mage’s trembling shoulders. Her face was white.

“You okay?” Yara asked.

“J-Just about,” Bethany stammered. She took a deep breath, surveying her broken staff. “Thank you.”

Yara smiled, turning back to the others. The remaining darkspawn had been slain, and Anders was healing a cut on Hawke’s shoulder. As the magic disappeared, she rose and came towards them.

“I can’t take my eyes off you for a second, can I, Beth?” She meant to be playful, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Thank the Maker you’re alright.”

“Thank Yara,” Bethany said. She faced her, brow raised. “But how did you know we were going to be attacked?”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” Anders said. “You heard the darkspawn call, just like I did. But there’s no way you could’ve heard it unless you have the Taint in your blood as well.”

Yara looked away. It seemed her secret was out.

“Whoa, what are you saying Blondie?” Varric asked. “Is Grim here a Grey Warden as well?”

“Yes.” Anders folded his arms. “I suspected something was amiss ever since we left Kirkwall. And having a darkspawn patrol attack so quickly proves they sensed us from the start. Quite a secret you thought to keep, Yara.”

Yara grimaced. She had not wanted to let that information slip.

“Does it matter?” Bethany asked. “You’re on the run from the Wardens as well. I’m sure Yara has her reasons.”

“Oh, I have no intention of being a tattle-tale,” Anders said. “But having two Wardens makes us a lot more open to attack. Just as we can sense the darkspawn, _they_ can sense us as well. You knew this, Yara. So why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t ‘know’ anything about being a Warden,” Yara said curtly. “I wasn’t even sure I was one, until recently. I have no memory of my past. Only this.”

She fished out her pendant. Anders inspected it, chewing his lip.

“That’s darkspawn blood,” he commented. “From your Joining, perhaps.” His brows narrowed. “But I don’t recall seeing you at Vigil’s Keep.”

“Look, this is lovely and all, but do we really need to discuss this right now?” Varric interrupted. “Wardens or not, we were going to face darkspawn at some point. At least with two of you, we’ll get some prior warning. Let’s just get back to Bartrand before he kicks off.”

“Fair enough, but we need to remove the corpses,” Anders said. “Otherwise others could get infected with the Taint.”

“Then we’ll leave that to you and Grim,” Varric said.

Yara nodded. Sheathing her weapons, she grabbed the first darkspawn body and dragged it into one of the rooms. The stench was starting to hit now, so she forced herself to breathe through her mouth. Soon the chamber was clear, so she and Anders made to catch up with the others. Anders continued to watch her, intrigued.

“Do you really recall nothing about being a Warden?” he asked.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Yara scoffed. “All I know is that one day I woke up severely injured, and everything before that is gone. I’m just trying to find some answers.”

Anders’ gaze softened. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It must’ve been quite frightening.”

“It’s more frustrating than anything else,” Yara answered. “But you’ve helped explain a few things.”

“I can tell you whatever you want to know,” Anders offered. “Although much of it will have to wait until after this expedition, I’ll do my best for you.”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask,” Yara said. It seemed a good a time as any to bring up the topic. “The first time Justice appeared, it made me have a vision.” She paused. “I think it might’ve been one of my memories, but I can’t be sure.”

“Oh?” Anders raised a brow. “Perhaps it’s because he’s much more closely tied to the Fade than I am. I’ve heard lost memories can be restored that way.”

“I see,” Yara murmured. “Then, do you think…”

“…I could help you restore your memories?” Anders finished. He let out a breath. “Well, I can’t guarantee anything, but I might be able to help. Once we get out of here, of course.”

Yara’s eyes lit up. At last, she would be able to find out the truth!

“Thank you, Anders.”

They quickened their pace, returning to the chamber with the four pillars. However, to Yara’s surprise, the others had stopped. Bethany was sitting at the base of a pillar, her breathing laboured. Hawke was holding her shoulder, sick with worry.

“What happened?” Yara ran forward, Anders at her heels.

“I don’t know,” Hawke said, fighting to keep panic from her voice. “Beth said she was tired, and then her legs just gave out…”

“I’ll…be fine,” Bethany croaked. “Just…not feeling so good.” Yara took one look at her and gasped. Her face was ghostly pale, and dark circles had formed under her eyes. She still held her wrist, and Anders’ eyes widened.

“Let me see,” he demanded. The others back away, while Bethany revealed her arm. “Maker’s breath, I can sense the Blight…”

“What?!” Hawke grabbed Anders by the collar. “You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” Anders said, gently pushed Hawke away. “Bethany, you’ve been infected with the Taint.”

Yara’s mouth went dry. “You mean…”

“…I’m going to die?” Bethany whispered.

Anders clenched his teeth. “Not necessarily. There might still be a way to save you, if we hurry.”

“Then quit flapping around and spit it out!” Hawke snapped.

Anders sighed. “Listen. Those maps you wanted from me, I actually stole them from a Grey Warden who came to Kirkwall. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t after me, and he wasn’t. He was setting up his own expedition down here. If we can find him, and bring Bethany to him…”

“You’re saying Beth has to become a Warden?” Yara asked.

“It’s not a decision to take lightly,” Anders said. “I can’t explain the details, but when it’s completed it can’t be reversed. It will however stop the sickness from killing you.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Hawke growled. “Show us where the Warden is!”

“Amber, enough,” Bethany said. “I…don’t know if I…”

“I’m not going to let you throw your life away!” Hawke barked. “What will Mother say if I tell her you asked me to abandon you in the Deep Roads when there was a chance to save you?!”

“You have to take this chance, Bethany,” Yara added. She clasped the mage’s hand. “If Anders and I can survive being Wardens, then you can as well. It won’t be easy, but I know you can do it.”

Bethany closed her eyes briefly. Finally she opened them again, and gave a nod.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So, you’re asking me to recruit the girl?”

Warden-Commander Stroud cast his gaze over Bethany, his brows narrowed. Yara tightened her grip around the mage’s shoulders, her heart filled with pity. Hawke, too, supported her sister, unable to take her eyes off her. Her skin had become so mottled, and her face was haggard. It was frightening how quickly the sickness had taken hold. And with Bethany so unwell, it had made navigating the Deep Roads even more treacherous. Without her magic to help, the fights had become more drawn-out, and Yara had plenty of scrapes on her arms to prove it.

Fortunately the Wardens had found them during their last encounter, and now they stood before the Warden-Commander himself. A tall, broad-shouldered Orlesian with a thick moustache, he had not been impressed with their request.

“Yes,” Anders said. “She’d be a good addition. She’s a very powerful mage.”

Stroud huffed. He broke his gaze from Bethany, his jaw set.

“We do not recruit out of pity, Anders,” he said sternly. “To be a part of our Order is no kindness. I would be better placed to offer my condolences.”

Hawke’s eyes flared. “What, you’d rather let her die?!”

“Sometimes such a course is a more desirable, yes,” Stroud answered.

Hawke opened her mouth, a harsh retort on her lips, but Anders held her arm. He shook his head, before facing Stroud again.

“Stroud, please,” he said. “This is her only chance, and with the Blight over, it’s not like you have your pick of recruits at the moment. Many were lost at Amaranthine.”

“Perhaps, but you know it’s not so simple,” Stroud said, folding his arms. “You have told her that it may be as much a death sentence as the sickness? That it has effects more far-reaching than she could begin to imagine?”

“I am well aware,” Bethany said, finding her voice. She found the strength to look up. “But through doing nothing, I’m dead regardless. I’m willing to take a chance.”

Stroud murmured, deliberating his thoughts.

“Stroud, I’m begging you,” Anders said. “Please. Do it for me.”

Stroud’s lip twisted. He turned away, before he let his shoulders drop.

“Very well.” He looked back to Anders. “I will try for you, Anders. But if I do this, then we are even.”

Anders bowed his head. “I’ll accept that. Thank you.”

Stroud nodded to his men, and one of the archers stepped forward. Yara and Hawke braced Bethany between them, before passing her on to him. Yara felt Bethany’s grip linger, as if she were afraid to lose contact. Eventually the mage let go, and the archer helped her limp away. Yara clenched her fist. She’d helped save Bethany from Jasper, but for what? So she could meet an even more terrible fate? And the girl would be all alone, separated from family and friends, left to face a horror unknown…

It didn’t have to be this way.

“Wait.” Yara suddenly strode forward. Stroud turned, brow raised. “Let me go with you as well.”

Hawke stared at her. “Whoa, are you serious, Yara?”

Stroud grunted.

“I did not come down here to collect strays,” he growled. “I’m already doing far too much by taking this one.”

Yara’s hesitation was brief.

“But I’m already a Grey Warden,” she said.

Stroud blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Yara steeled herself, and brought out her pendant. It was risky revealing this, but it was her only chance to convince the Warden-Commander. If it meant she’d have to face a deserter’s punishment, then so be it.

“I have no memory of my past, so I can’t say how or where I ended up joining,” she admitted. “But I have this, and I can sense darkspawn. Proof enough I should return to where I belong.”

Stroud studied the pendant, thoughtful. He chewed his lip.

“Well, I certainly don’t recognise you, but I know a Joining token when I see one,” he said. “They are rare these days, so whoever recruited you must have been in the Order a long time.” He gave a conceding nod. “I can also sense the Taint in you as well, although I was not entirely sure, had you not confessed. There seems little point turning you away, then, since you are so willing to come back.”

Bethany’s eyes glistened. “Yara, you don’t have to do this.”

Yara smiled. “I know, but I want to.”

Anders frowned, and took Yara’s wrist.

“What about getting Justice to restore your memories?” he asked quietly, so Stroud couldn’t hear. “I can’t do that if you leave.”

“I’ll find another way,” Yara said. She regretted losing such a chance, but she knew she’d never live with herself if she abandoned Bethany. Not when the mage had so willingly taken her in. “Look, Beth won’t be alone this way. It’ll be hard enough for her as it is.”

“We’re going to lose you both?” Hawke shook her head. “Then how’re we supposed to find anything without getting maimed by darkspawn?”

Bethany’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all you can think about, after everything that’s happened?”

Hawke winced.

“It’s not that,” she insisted. “I want nothing more than for you to survive this. But after everything we’ve given for this expedition, all the things we promised Mother, and we’re going to be two fighters down…”

“I see.” Bethany scoffed, turning away. “Then perhaps it’s best we’re parting ways, sister.”

“Bethany…” Hawke reached out, but Bethany didn’t respond to her touch. Hurt flicked across Hawke’s eyes, but it was soon replaced with anger. “Fine then. Maybe I should’ve left you behind, after all. I wish you well, _sister_.”

She stormed off, not looking back. Yara watched her leave, then glanced to Bethany. The mage was scowling, but even that couldn’t mask the pain in her eyes. It was not the way she had wanted to say goodbye.

“We must get back to the surface, quickly,” Stroud said. “Speak your farewells and let us be off.”

Bethany nodded, facing Varric and Anders. Varric gave a worn smile.

“I’m sorry it’s turned out like this, Sunshine,” he said. “I hope it goes well for you.” He nodded at Yara. “And Grim, take good care of her. I’m sure Hawke will appreciate it.”

“I will,” Yara promised. “And good luck.”

“I think you’re going to need it more than we do,” Varric chortled.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Anders added. “It’s a noble thing you’re doing, Yara. And Bethany, I pray to the Maker that you’ll survive.”

“Thank you, Anders,” Bethany said; her voice was growing hoarse again.

Anders and Varric bowed, before they left, following in Hawke’s footsteps. She was waiting by the chamber exit, determined not to look at Bethany. Even then, Yara could have sworn she caught a glisten on Hawke’s cheek.

“We must move at once,” Stroud said. “Our camp is not far, but I cannot initiate a Joining until we are in Ansburg. I will need to give you some medicine if we are to reach there in time.”

Bethany nodded. Yara took the mage’s arm again, and the archer was more than glad to hand her back. The change in touch made Bethany relax, and Yara felt her weak embrace.

“This is more than I could’ve asked for, Yara,” Bethany said softly. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need,” Yara answered. “You did the same for me.” She began to walk, and Bethany followed with staggered steps. The irony wasn’t lost on Yara, as she recalled how Eliza had helped her all that time ago. Now Bethany needed that same patience and kindness, and she would give it to her.

Her memories would have to wait.

* * *

 

The Westland Keep was an ancient outpost belonging to the Margrave of Ansburg. Yara caught a glance of its main tower as their group approached from the mountains. After leaving the suffocating Deep Roads, they had continued the rest of the trip on horseback, and covered a good distance. Even then the fort still seemed far away, and not at all the twenty miles Stroud proclaimed. Yet it was within those walls he would perform the Joining, and hopefully spare Bethany from certain death. If they continued at their current pace, they would reach the keep before nightfall.

But whether Bethany would last the journey was another matter. She was riding with a Warden named Ranalle, half-asleep as her chin rested on the elven woman’s shoulder. Stroud had given her the medicine, but Yara wasn’t convinced it had done any good. She herself was sitting behind the archer who had first helped them, her aversion to riding as strong as ever. But while she fretted about keeping her balance on the saddle, her deeper anxiety lay with the setting sun. Should it crest the horizon before they reached the gates of Westland…

“Lowan, send word that we have some new recruits,” Stroud ordered. The dwarf nodded, and he slowed his mount, drifting back towards the pack mule that held the cage for the messenger pigeons.

Stroud turned to Yara, his jaw set. “It will create a lot of fuss if you mention that you are already a Warden,” he explained. “Whatever your reasons for leaving, they are not my business, nor should they be anyone else’s. Attend your friend’s Joining with me, and let the others assume you survived it.”

Yara nodded. She renewed her grip on the saddle, trying not to keep glancing at Bethany. Her pendant jingled, and she swallowed, tucking it under her shirt. Given Stroud’s warning, she would do well to keep it hidden.

They continued down the winding path, overlooking the tributaries of the Minanter river. The skies were strewn with clouds, the greys and blues slowly deepening to pinks and reds. A sight that should have filled Yara with peace, yet all it did was fuel her desperation. After all, it was her fault Bethany had ended up like this. If Yara hadn’t been caught in a daydream from the past, had acted quicker and stopped the darkspawn from even touching the mage…

Sighing, Yara shook her head. It was hard to tune out the memory, to stop ruminating over what she had and hadn’t done. Worse, however, had been watching her mistake drive Amber and Bethany apart. They had risked so much for the expedition, and a single careless moment had taken that away. Now there was no guarantee that Bethany would even survive, and if she did, she would never be able to return to her family, either.

Varric had chosen a very fitting nickname for her, indeed.

At last, the path began to slope uphill, and the walls of the keep came in sight. Stroud quickened their pace, and they finally arrived at the main entrance. The iron gates were open, the gatekeepers already alerted to their arrival. Stroud entered, then promptly dismounted. Ranalle followed suit, bracing Bethany against her back. Yara’s rider also halted, and she jumped to the ground. There was not a moment to lose.

“This way,” Stroud commanded, walking briskly into the main courtyard. Ranalle and Yara hurried after him, the latter staring at the worn stone. The keep must’ve been centuries old, but it had been well looked after. A few Wardens stood around, and their paused in their duties, peering curiously at the newcomers. Yara’s cheeks flushed, and she drew her collar higher, uncomfortable.

Stroud took them up a set of steps, and pushed open a heavy oak door. Yara’s nose wrinkled, assaulted with a foul coppery scent, and she glanced around. A workbench took up most of the room, and upon it had been laid some vials and a chalice.

“Thank you, Ranalle,” Stroud said. “I will take over from here.”

“As you command,” Ranalle answered. She turned to Yara. “I wish you luck.”

Yara nodded, taking Bethany from her. The mage murmured, and her eyes opened. They were bloodshot and rheumy.

“Yara?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s alright, we’re here,” Yara said. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“Please wait in the lower courtyard for me,” Stroud said, approaching the workbench. “I will be with you shortly.”

“Okay.” Bracing Bethany against her, Yara hoisted the mage onto her back, before making a slow walk towards the door. Bethany’s breaths were shallow, and Yara wrapped her fingers around her wrist. _Maker above, please let her survive_.

The lower courtyard was much smaller than the front one, and screened on all sides by thick stone and foliage. A lone bench had been placed along the rear wall, and Yara helped Bethany sit. The mage all but slumped over, barely able to find the strength to keep upright. Her hands trembled, so Yara gently stroked her shoulder. Bethany couldn’t find the words, but she leaned closer, grateful that she wasn’t alone.

“Here.” Stroud appeared, and he was holding the chalice. A viscous black liquid filled it, giving off the same coppery scent as in the room. “You have very little time, so let us begin.”

Bethany nodded. She gripped the bench, sitting forward without Yara’s support. Yara stood up, edging away as Stroud ventured closer and offered the chalice.

“Join us, sister,” Stroud began. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.”

A dull ache throbbed in Yara’s temple, and she hissed. These words, they seemed…familiar.

“Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn,” Stroud went on. With shaking hands Bethany reached out, taking the chalice. Stroud stepped back, bowing his head. “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”

The headache grew more intense, and Yara gripped her forehead. Her vision was starting to blur, so she blinked, leaning against the wall. Bethany, her hands trembling, raised the chalice to her lips. For a moment she hesitated, but then she closed her eyes and drank the foul liquid. Once she finished, Stroud took the goblet from her.

No sooner had the chalice left Bethany’s fingers than her body went rigid. Her eyes snapped open, and she let out a terrible scream—the first noise to have escaped her throat in so long. Then she collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Yara’s eyes went wide. Her mind raged at her to move, to check if the mage’s heart was still beating, but she was frozen. The bench, the walls and grass all merged into darkness, and the world fell away.

_The Kocari wilds are a dangerous, unfriendly place. Even without the tales of ravenous monsters, feral beasts and the deadly Witch of the Wilds, there is plenty else to be afraid of. For here the darkspawn have returned, their presence not felt on the surface for over four hundred years. They swarm and gather, united under an Archdemon to begin a new Blight across the land._

_Their presence sends shivers down the spines of the would-be Warden recruits, tasked to retrieve important papers and separate vials of darkspawn blood. Led by a man newly Joined, they creep across the blackened forest, seeking their prey, their fear unmasked._

_Yet when the ruins are discovered, it is they who become the prey. A woman with raven hair approaches, her staff betraying her nature as an apostate. Her voice is mocking, her amber eyes sneering, but she does not engage in combat. She departs, taking comfort as observer, or perhaps overseer._

_The group returns, and as the moon rises, the dark secret of the Wardens is revealed. The first, the cutpurse rogue, perishes, his body too frail to withstand the Taint. The second, the brave knight warrior, laments his fate. He tries to escape, but it is too late, and so he is killed as well. Now it leaves only me, and I feel the icy chalice in my hands. The blackened liquid soils my lips, my mouth, my throat. The effect is instant. I am left a burning agony, assaulted with screams I cannot understand, a nightmare that now once begun will never end._

_But even as the shadows engulf me, as the terror seeps into my bones and the song that will one day call me to death echoes faint, his voice calls…_

_“E…sa, wake up! Wake up!”_

* * *

 

“Yara, wake up!”

Yara’s eyes opened, and she found herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Disorientated, she drew her arm across her face. She was lying on a bed in a small room; most likely another part of the keep. Her head was pounding, and her back was clammy. Slowly, she lowered her arm, then turned aside. To her surprise, Bethany was sitting beside her. Her skin was no longer ashen, although her eyes held a new wariness that hadn’t been there before.

“Beth!” Yara grasped the mage’s hand, her own pains forgotten. “Thank the Maker, you survived!”

Bethany smiled.

“Yes,” she said, “but never mind me. What happened to _you_?” She clasped Yara’s palm. “Stroud said you fainted after I’d drunk that disgusting concoction, and you’ve been asleep for longer than I have!”

Yara tensed. She looked away, reaching for her pendant. It had become something of a habit to touch it, as it seemed to bring her comfort. But these flashbacks were getting out of control, and she could not blame Justice this time. More and more layers of her past were unravelling, yet they still made little, if any, sense. It was as if half of her were fighting to recall the truth, but the other half continued to suppress it. And it was starting to take a serious toll.

“How long have I been out?” Yara asked.

“Almost two days,” Bethany answered. “I woke up yesterday evening, and the healer gave me the good news. The sickness is gone, but…” For a moment her eyes became distant. “I understand why Stroud was reluctant to recruit me.” She quickly shook her head. “Anyway, the moment he told me what happened, I rushed straight here. Everyone assumes you underwent the Joining as well, so they’re not suspicious, but I’m worried about you.” She took a breath. “It happened at the Kirkwall Chantry, and down in the Deep Roads, too. Just what is going on with you?”

Yara sighed. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling again. She had yet to tell Bethany the full story, but she couldn’t hide it any longer. Not when these blackouts could endanger her.

“I wish I knew,” she admitted. “Almost two years ago, I woke up at a healer’s in Amaranthine. I was badly injured, barely clinging to life, and everything before that moment was darkness. I don’t even know my real name, or who I truly was.” She paused, watching Bethany’s reaction. “Since I came to Kirkwall, though, I keep getting flashbacks. They used to only come in dreams, but now they appear whenever they wish.” She clenched her fist. “I still don’t understand them, and I don’t know why they’ve changed. That was why I left, to find some answers. But I feel like I’m not much further from where I started.”

Bethany’s gaze softened.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea.” Her eyes widened. “And you still chose to come here with me? When you could’ve stayed out there, searching for the truth?”

“It wasn’t like I was getting anywhere,” Yara shrugged. “And I know how it feels, when you’re left alone to face the unknown. I didn’t want you to go through the same thing.”

Bethany fell silent for a moment, digesting her words. She drew her hands to her lap, and braced them to fists.

“Then that settles it,” she suddenly said.

“Settles what?” Yara asked, puzzled.

Bethany took Yara’s hands in her own.

“Even if we’re with the Wardens now, I’ll do whatever it takes to help you uncover your past,” she said. “I promise.”

Yara sat up, her brow raised.

“You want to help me recover my memories?”

Bethany gave a firm nod.

“After all you sacrificed to look after me, it’s the least I can offer in return.” Her eyes glistened, and she looked away. “I’ve…I’ve never been apart from my family like this, and now I won’t ever see them again.” She took a shaky breath. “I said such a hurtful thing to Amber, too, and I wish more than anything that I could take it back. If you hadn’t come with me…” She swallowed, forcing back her homesick tears. “We barely know one another, yet you’ve shown me more kindness than I’ve ever known. So if I can repay that in any way, I will.”

Yara felt a smile tug at her lips. Truly, the mage was more than she deserved.

“Your sister was right, you know,” she said at last. “You really do get overly sentimental.”

Bethany’s cheeks flushed, and Yara laughed.

“I don’t give everyone such regard, you know,” the mage huffed, looking away.

“I know,” Yara said, squeezing her hand. “It means a lot, Beth, and I’m truly grateful. I’m fortunate to have met you.”

“As am I,” Bethany replied, her smile returned. “Now, why don’t we find you something to eat?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I’ve picked and chosen bits from Dragon Age: Awakening that fit; it’s not entirely canon however, nor does it exactly fit the timeline, so keep that in mind. Also, while I’m aware Stroud and Alistair are not Warden-Commanders in-game, they are in this universe. Lucky them!
> 
> There is also what looks like a glaring plot-hole…but it isn’t! Trust me! Please?

 

“You summoned us?”

Yara and Bethany entered Stroud’s office; a compact study that overlooked the lower courtyard. The Warden-Commander was sitting behind a mahogany desk, which was littered with parchments. The rear wall sported a Grey Warden shield, and sunlight filtered in through the lone window. Stroud was holding a letter, and he set it down as the two approached.

“Ah, thank you for coming so swiftly,” he said, gesturing for them to sit. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

“I think so,” Bethany said, and Yara gave a firm nod. After their recovery, the two had spent the last few weeks adjusting to their new life as Wardens. It had taken some time to find their way around, but the other Wardens had proven friendly and welcoming. In fact, only the day before they had ventured on their first mission, and had impressed many of the veterans.

Still, Bethany made no effort to hide her homesickness, and while Yara’s visions had quieted, she couldn’t combat her own restlessness, either. Unable to trace the clues within her dreams, she had taken to researching Warden history, hoping to find answers that way. Sadly, all her leads had been dead-ends. Yet while part of her wondered if she should’ve remained with Anders, those thoughts quickly faded when she glanced at Bethany. The mage might’ve survived the sickness, but the Taint now plagued her with nightmares. So many nights she’d awoken howling in terror, and it had been all Yara could do to comfort her. Sacrificing the means to discovering her past seemed a small price to pay in return.

“Good,” Stroud said. “Then please do not be affronted by what I have to say.”

Yara stiffened. Had something happened?

“I’ve received an urgent message from the new Ferelden Warden-Commander,” Stroud went on. “You may already know this, but during the Fifth Blight, the Ferelden Wardens were all killed at Ostagar, save for the ones who led the fight against the Archdemon. Alas, even then the Hero of Ferelden had to give her life to defeat the beast.”

Yara nodded; she had heard such stories before.

“The Ferelden Queen was generous, however, and gave the lands of Amaranthine for us to rebuild,” Stroud said. “I was tasked to oversee recruitment. For a time things were going well, our numbers strengthening, but then a large-scale darkspawn attack caught us off-guard. We managed to defeat them and protect the city, but it came at the cost of Vigil’s Keep, and many of our brothers and sisters. Our stronghold was reduced to rubble, and then I was called away.” He shook his head. “It has only been in the last few months that a new Warden-Commander has been appointed to try and restore order.”

“So the Keep’s been without a commander for over a year?” Bethany asked. “It must be in an awful state.”

“The Warden-Commander has informed me such,” Stroud answered. “He has therefore asked if I could spare anyone to help him.” He put his fingers together. “Most of the Wardens here are Free Marchers or Orlesians, but you two are both Ferelden born. I met with a lot of disdain from the people of Amaranthine because of my heritage, and I daresay their attitudes won’t have changed. Thus, if you two are willing, I was wondering if you could fulfil this request?”

“You mean go back to Ferelden?” Yara asked.

“It is by no means a reflection of what we think of you here,” Stroud added. “You have both proven yourselves capable, and even if you were not from Ferelden, I would recommend you regardless. You are just what Warden-Commander Therin needs right now.”

Yara licked her lips, mulling over the proposition. In many ways it seemed almost too good to be true. It would take several weeks to reach Amaranthine, and she could have the opportunity to look into her past again. As a bonus, she could even pay Viren and Eliza a surprise visit. Of course, there was a chance she could run into the Bronze Blades, but she was under the protection of the Wardens now. She would have nothing to fear from them.

Bethany nudged her shoulder.

“Well?” the mage asked softly.

Yara blinked, and took a breath.

“It seems a sound idea,” she declared. “I’d be happy to return to Ferelden and help out the Warden-Commander.”

“Then I agree to go as well,” Bethany said.

Stroud smiled.

“That is very kind of you both,” he said. “You won’t be alone, however. I will also send Ranalle and Marcus with you.” He took out a quill from his desk drawer. “I will write to the Warden-Commander, telling him when to expect you. Make your preparations, and you can leave in the next couple of days.”

Yara and Bethany bowed, before leaving the office. They descended the narrow stone staircase, entering the main courtyard. Once they were out of earshot, Bethany let out a sigh.

“Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.” She brushed back a strand of her hair. “It’ll be strange, though. I never thought I’d return to Ferelden.”

“Did you plan to stay in Kirkwall, then?” Yara asked.

“Pretty much,” Bethany said. “Lothering was completely wiped out during the Blight. We doubted anyone would want to live there again, and we had stronger family ties in Kirkwall.” She hesitated, bringing her hand to her chest. It was still a very sensitive subject. “Anyway, what do you think about it?”

Yara shrugged.

“It might be a good opportunity to recover some of my memories,” she said. “Plus I was in Amaranthine for so long, it’s almost like home to me anyway. It’ll be nice to head back.”

Bethany chuckled.

“That’s right,” she said, “you were with that apostate healer, weren’t you?” She pursed her lips. “But how did he avoid the darkspawn attack?”

“He lives a way out of the city,” Yara explained. “He also has wards around his home, which he told me kept out ‘unwelcome guests’. I imagine the darkspawn simply fell for the illusions and went for the bigger target. I wasn’t even aware a conflict was going on.”

“That’s impressive,” Bethany said. “He sounds like a fascinating man. I’d really like to meet him.”

“I’m sure he’d love to meet you as well,” Yara answered. She gazed towards the main tower. “Whoever left me at his doorstep made a wise choice. I wouldn’t have survived without him and his daughter.” She turned around, and clasped the mage’s shoulder. “Anyway, we’d better start preparing. It’s a long way to the border.”

* * *

 

Yara rested her chin on Bethany’s shoulder, a yawn escaping her as they rode towards Vigil’s Keep. It stood on the horizon amidst the lush fields, and her aching thighs welcomed the view. Thanks to a violent storm at sea, they’d had to dock at Highever, adding yet more days to their arduous journey. She was growing tired of the long days of riding, especially since she still couldn’t handle a horse alone. For whatever reason, the beasts never took well to her touch, and so she remained forced to ride as a passenger.

“That must be it,” Bethany mused, also gazing towards the fort. Despite Stroud’s words about the darkspawn assault, it didn’t seem in too bad a condition. Its main tower was intact, but there were still large gaps in the walls, and the eastern side was filled with rubble and stone. Several of the turrets were also only half-completed, lacking roofs and supports.

“The Warden-Commander has been busy,” Ranalle commented. She rode at the front, with Bethany and Yara behind, and Marcus at the rear. “The keep was in a dire state last I visited, yet here it is almost standing fully once more.”

“I like a man who gets things done,” Marcus added, bringing his horse to keep pace with Bethany’s mare. “This is a good sign.”

Bethany, however, was frowning. Her eyes were fixed on the banners that draped the walls.

“Those are Templar colours,” she said, nodding towards the front turret. Her grip around the reins tightened. “What are _they_ doing here?”

“I would also like to know,” Ranalle said, her gaze darkening. “They have no jurisdiction over the Wardens, they should know their place.”

“I’m betting this is what the Warden-Commander wanted help with,” Yara speculated.

“Must they stick their nose into everyone’s business?” Bethany’s lip curled. “It isn’t enough for them to police mages, oh no…”

“Seems we’ll find out soon enough,” Yara shrugged.

Keeping in a closer formation, the group followed the road to the keep’s main gate. The fort itself straddled the Hafter river, the latter’s banks swollen from the recent storm. As they approached the main bridge, Yara spotted smoking billowing from the chimneys of the lower buildings. At least the place was very much alive, and not at all the derelict ruin she had been expecting.

At last they reached the gates. Ranalle halted her gelding, raising her hand in salute. However, it was two Templars who stood guard. Their response was to brace their lances. Yara’s eyes narrowed.

“State your rank and business,” the first Templar demanded; a tall man with black hair.

Ranalle’s green eyes flared, but she kept her voice level.

“I am Senior Warden Ranalle, from the Free Marches contingent of Grey Wardens,” she announced. “We have come at behest of Warden-Commander Therin. He should be expecting us.”

The Templar relaxed his stance a little, but then his attention focused on Bethany. His companion hesitated, and they exchanged a wary glance.

“You three may enter,” the black-haired man said at last, “but the mage must come with us. She needs to have a…security check.”

“What?” Bethany’s arm tensed, about to reach for her staff, but Yara squeezed her waist in warning. They didn’t need to cause a scene.

“I’m afraid I cannot acquiesce to that demand,” Ranalle answered, without missing a beat. “Wardens do not answer to petty Templars.”

“How dare you!” The Templar raised his lance. “If it weren’t for us, this place would remain a ruin! You haven’t even the numbers to maintain a guard presence. So in return, we…”

“Maker’s breath, will you just _cut it out already_?!”

An exasperated male voice broke through behind the gate. The Templars turned, as the delivery entrance opened and a tall Warden appeared. He wore the griffin emblem that marked him as Warden-Commander. He had short-cropped sandy hair, with matching stubble on his cheeks, and his brown eyes were narrowed.

“These are the reinforcements I requested from Warden-Commander Stroud, as I told you several weeks ago,” he said, glaring at the Templars. “The fact that one of them is a mage is completely irrelevant. Now stop being so obstructive and let them in!”

The black-haired Templar’s eyes narrowed, but he put up no further argument. He grunted an order, and the main gates were opened. The Warden-Commander huffed, still shooting daggers at the Templar guard. Evidently this was not the first time he’d had to do this, Yara mused. Eventually however he broke his gaze, and looked to the group.

“My sincerest apologies,” he said, bowing. “It’s been…difficult, as you can imagine. Please, come through, and I’ll give you a proper welcome.”

Ranalle nodded, and she led the way into the keep. They soon came to the stables, and dismounted. Bethany remained tense, her jaw clenched.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Yara said, touching the mage’s shoulder.

“Yes, let me second that,” the Warden-Commander added. “I’m so very sorry you had to endure that nonsense, but you can see first-hand why I need your help.”

“We’d be delighted to assist, Warden-Commander Therin,” Ranalle said.

“Please, call me Alistair,” the Warden-Commander said. “I’m not really one for long and boring titles.” He gestured towards the main tower. “Shall we?”

Nodding, the group followed him through the lower grounds, before ascending a staircase to the main keep. Yara glanced around, taking in the surroundings. In stark contrast to the fort at Ansburg, Templars patrolled the ways, and Yara could only pick out two or three blue-uniformed Wardens in the mix. The whole atmosphere was much colder, too, and she shivered. Something had certainly gone wrong here.

Alistair took them through an empty hall and into a large war chamber. A table spanned the rear wall, covered with a map of the kingdom, and decorative weapons had been hung over the fireplace. Light entered through the grimy windows, casting long shadows over the wooden floor, and opposite the table were several oak benches.

“Please, sit,” Alistair said, and the group assembled on the benches. Yara sat beside Bethany, their arms touching. She sighed, still sensing the mage’s bitterness. Alistair cleared his throat, before continuing. “Well, as you’ve seen, this place is a bit barren of Wardens, and that’s led to a few…well, let’s call them compromises.”

“Did you invite the Templars here?” Yara asked.

“Oh no, that honour goes to the senior Warden before me,” Alistair said, holding up his hands. “When Stroud had to leave, she was forced to take over. It was a job nobody wanted, after what happened with the darkspawn. As expected things went no-where fast, so in desperation she made a deal with the Templars. For their help in rebuilding and bolstering our numbers, she allowed them some freedom over the place. And it’s kinda gone to their heads.”

“It’s an absolute insult!” Bethany clenched her fists in her lap. “They know the Right of Conscription trumps the Chantry’s law. They need to remember their place!”

“Hasn’t the Grand Cleric had something to say about this?” Ranalle asked, holding her chin. “Surely she can keep her dogs on a tighter leash.”

“We’ve tried that,” Alistair said, “but since the deal was made consensually, she’s not very interested in getting involved.” He shook his head. “I’ve managed to gain a few recruits, but as you can imagine, having Templars around is very off-putting. And I’m not stupid enough to think that they’re not helping themselves to the odd apostate who tries their luck to come here.”

“So what can we do?” Yara asked. “We can’t exactly fight them off.”

“Our main problem is that we’re still heavily reliant on the Templars to boost our numbers,” Alistair said. “So a decent recruitment campaign was first on my list. Once we can be a little more self-sufficient, we can push harder to get them to return to Amaranthine.”

“Won’t that take too long?” Bethany protested. “Undertaking a Joining doesn’t guarantee success, and I can’t imagine people are lining up to join without a Blight right now.”

“Very true, so I’m open to alternative ideas,” Alistair admitted. “I don’t want the Templars here longer than they need to be, either. Two months of Templar-Lieutenant Rylock’s smirking face is enough to make anyone want to _stay_ in the Deep Roads.”

Yara murmured, chewing her lip. It seemed no matter where she went, the shadow of the Templars always followed her.

“Anyway, you must all be exhausted from your trip,” Alistair said. “Have a think on what we might do, and report to me tomorrow. In the meantime, you’re free to roam around. If you want to head to your quarters, you can find the barracks in the lower grounds.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Ranalle said. The group saluted, then stood, making to depart.

As Yara headed for the doorway, however, Alistair blocked her path.

“Do forgive me for being so forward,” he said, his brow furrowing, “but have we met before? Your face seems familiar.”

Yara felt her heart skip a beat. It was entirely possible the two had crossed paths, but her mind remained blank. She didn’t know the Warden-Commander well enough to blurt her secrets, either, so she opted to remain cautious.

“Sorry, I don’t think so,” she replied.

Alistair’s gaze fell.

“Ah, my mistake then,” he conceded, not hiding his disappointment. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“It’s Yara,” Yara said.

“Right, then we’ve certainly not met before,” Alistair said. “I guess for a moment I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. Perhaps you just remind me of someone I once knew. Rest well.”

He left the chamber. Yara watched him go, and let out a sigh. Here was a clue to her past, freely offered, yet she couldn’t take it. Swallowing, she strode back to the hall, double-checking to make sure her pendant was concealed. She would have to gain the Warden-Commander’s further trust before she could risk revealing more.

Bethany was waiting near the exit, but her attention was fixed elsewhere. A Templar had emerged from another doorway, and he was walking towards the mage. Their eyes met, and his expression soured.

“Hmph, another one of _your kind_ ,” he spat. “The Wardens are fools to recruit you. You’re too dangerous to be trusted.”

That was too much, and Bethany snatched her staff.

“I’ll show you just how dangerous!” she snapped. In seconds her staff became bathed in flames. The Templar snarled, drawing his sword.

“Beth, stop it!” Yara charged forward, grabbing the mage’s wrist. The heat of the spell made her skin prickle. “He’s not worth it!”

Bethany growled, her arm shaking. Eventually though she let the spell fizzle out, and she dropped her arm. The Templar backed away, not sheathing his sword. He cursed at her, before departing to the lower grounds.

“Bastards, _bastards_!” Bethany shrieked, throwing her staff to the floor. She ran her hands through her hair, gripping her temples. “It doesn’t matter where in Thedas you go, they’re all the same! Backstabbing, leering, stupid ugly _thugs_!”

“I know,” Yara said, “but attacking them upfront only gives them more ammunition against you.”

“I won’t sit here and take their abuse like some brainwashed meek Circle mage!” Bethany hissed. She picked up her staff, her jaw set. “If the Warden-Commander wants them gone, I’ll happily burn them all into oblivion!”

“As much as I’d love to see that, you know we can’t hurt them,” Yara answered gently. “This isn’t something we can win by sheer force. We need to beat them at their own game.”

“Can I at least set one of them on fire?” Bethany pouted. “I know it’ll make me feel miles better.”

Yara laughed.

“Patience, my little pyromaniac.” She pushed Bethany towards the exit. “We’ll think of something.”

* * *

 

_A torrid rain pelts down, soaking the marshes where the ruins of Ostagar lie. The skies are dark, the clouds smothering and choking the moonlight. Down in the valley below, King Cailan rallies his troops, fighting alongside the legendary Wardens he adores so much. Overseeing the higher ground, Loghain and his men wait for the beacon that will signal their advance. It is a chance to crush the Blight before it truly takes hold, and spare Ferelden its darkest night._

_But the tower is overrun. Darkspawn swarm from beneath the ground, trying to block the path to its peak. For the first time I can hear them in my thoughts, shrieking and bawling like the monsters they are. It is distracting, but he shouts encouragement, promising to always be beside me as we ascend. Lightning bathes our path as we tear through the ranks of the beasts, their blackened blood soiling our blades and armour. It is a sight I will become well-accustomed to in time._

_The stairs are old, broken, the rooms collapsing, and our steps do not come without injury. But at last we make it to the top, ready to fulfil our duty. However, the final test is yet to come. The last obstacle in our path is a giant. Slowly, it turns, hearing our approach. Deadened eyes stare down, and it howls, the sound resonating through the walls of stone. I grip my swords, and he braces his shield. We cannot fail._

_The battle is the hardest I have yet fought. Its strength is immeasurable, its anger unmatched. But we do not give in. Each blow weakens it further, and finally it drops to its knees. I do not hesitate. A war cry escapes my lips, and I lunge, taking out the flesh behind its legs. The ogre screams, taking the pain it sought to inflict, and I leap. My blades drive deep into its eyes, and it flounders, trying to throw me off. My grip is iron, and I press deeper. There is a sickening crunch, and the beast falls silent. I withdraw, and it collapses to the ground, lifeless._

_“Quickly!” He beckons me to the waiting hearth. He piles the kindling inside, and the flames soon take hold. The task is complete. The beacon is lit._

_But then the doors rattle, and my eyes widen. In moments they are torn asunder, and darkspawn flood through. Their numbers are impossible. For every one we slay, another two replace it. My arms grow weary, begging for rest. I cannot grant it._

_We can hold no longer. My swords are thrown from me, and I am pinned to the wall. The scent of death lingers, and my eyes close, awaiting the final peace that will end this night of suffering._

_Suddenly the tower shatters, and I’m falling. The wind tears at my hair and face, and then…_

Yara woke with a start. The barrack room remained dark, and she took a breath, holding her hand to her chest. Her heart was still racing, and she closed her eyes. She hadn’t dreamt with such clarity for a long while. She sat up, holding her forehead, and tried to piece together what she could. Yet the only thing that lingered was the feeling of sheer helplessness. It was so intense, striking her to the very core, and drowned out all else she might have remembered.

She bit her lip, clawing at the sheets. Why was it this fugue always settled over her when she awoke? No matter how vivid the images, she could never recall them properly. Instead she was always left with baffling emotions that turned her inside out. She was getting sick of this relentless cycle, but with no idea how to overcome it, she could only continue to endure.

It wasn’t fair…

A snort caught her ear, and she glanced across to the other bunk. Bethany was sound asleep, her hair tousled over her pillow. Yara smiled to herself. At least the mage had been spared this night.

Yawning, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Donning her boots, she pulled a cloak over her shoulders and quietly left the room. Only another maddening dream awaited if she settled to sleep again, so she hoped a walk might soothe her troubled mood.

The night breeze was pleasant against her balmy skin. Yara spent a moment savouring it, before she began a slow wander around the lower grounds. Lanterns had been lit amongst the buildings, and they cast flickering shadows around her. Some Templars still lurked, but they paid Yara no heed, muttering to themselves. Yara ignored them in turn, following the path with no real destination in mind.

Eventually her steps brought her to a tall building that held a single bell; the local Chantry. Its door was ajar, and candle-light glowed from within. Curious, Yara walked up the steps and entered. Several pews flanked her, and ahead stood a statue of Andraste. Candles lined her feet, which were obscured by a pair of silhouettes. One was clearly a kneeling man, while the other was smaller, its outline not as defined.

The smaller shadow moved, and let out a bark. The man started, and he spun around, a hand on his sword. Yara soon recognised Alistair’s tired visage, and she held up her hands. Alistair’s gaze quickly softened, and he smiled. The dog—a mabari hound—barked again, but it wasn’t threatening. In fact, it began to wag its tail, and it trotted up to Yara. A brief sniff later, and it licked her hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, both to the hound and the Warden-Commander.

“I see we’re not the only ones who’re feeling restless tonight,” Alistair quipped. He whistled, and the mabari whined. It nuzzled Yara’s hand once more, before it returned to the Warden-Commander’s side. Alistair scratched it between its ears, and it let out a happy ruff. “Don’t mind Duke. He loves meeting new people.”

“He’s a fine hound,” Yara said. She came forward and sat on the front pew.

“Indeed he is,” Alistair said. His voice turned wistful. “He’s probably only got a year or so left in him, but he’s been as steadfast and loyal as when I inherited him.”

“Inherited him?” Yara raised a brow.

Alistair fell silent for a moment.

“He…belonged to a dear friend,” he said carefully. “The Hero of Ferelden, actually.”

“Wow,” Yara breathed. Her eyes widened. “Wait, does that mean you…”

“Helped end the Fifth Blight?” Alistair finished. A wry smile crested his lips. “That I did, though I tend not to make a lot of fuss. You get tired hearing the same questions over and over again.” He paused, petting Duke’s snout. “But I’m merely an accessory compared to the true hero. She really did achieve the impossible.”

“So I’ve heard,” Yara said, resting her hands on her thighs. “She must’ve been quite the woman.”

“That she was,” Alistair sighed. His fist clenched. “And after all she endured, all the odds she overcame to unite the kingdom and raise an army against the Archdemon, her final victory was snatched away.” His voice grew uneven. “I saw everything that day. Fearless, she ran right up to the Archdemon and drove her sword between its hideous eyes, making it shriek like nothing I’d ever heard. It was as good as dead. Finally, it was going to be over. But then…” He hesitated. “Then, in the throes of death, the Archdemon lashed out. It tore apart the fortress walls, causing them to collapse. And she was caught in the middle of it. She tried to escape, but the floor gave way, and she…” He couldn’t speak further.

Yara let the silence linger, half-wishing she hadn’t brought up the topic. It was clear Alistair had cared a lot for the Hero, and her loss still affected him deeply, even after all this time.

“I’m sorry, Alistair,” Yara said at last. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

Alistair chuckled.

“It’s alright,” he said. He gazed to the statue of Andraste. “You know, I hadn’t really thought about her much lately. Too busy with everything else, I guess. But I’m glad you’ve made me remember her.” He rested his hands behind his head, and Duke let out a bark. “And I think Duke here is glad as well. So thanks.”

Yara felt her cheeks warm, and was thankful that the candle light was dim.

“Anyway, won’t do us much good to sit here brooding over the past,” Alistair went on. “Good night, Yara. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Commander.”

Alistair clicked his tongue, and Duke stood up. The mabari brushed his head against Yara’s leg, before he followed his master out of the Chantry.

Yara took a breath, leaning against the pew. She stared at the statue of Andraste for a long while, a nagging sensation at the back of her mind. Alistair’s words had stirred something. Try as she might, however, she could not put her finger on what was bothering her.

Curse this fugue!

Resigned to defeat, Yara rose, turning her back on the candles. She strode out of the Chantry, making a beeline back to the barracks.

The night would get to hold its mysteries once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not entirely true to Awakening!

Yara sighed, folding her arms as she leant against the sentry tower. Nathaniel was supposed to have met her over an hour ago, yet still he hadn’t appeared. He was one of the few Wardens who had survived the fall of Vigil’s Keep, and the two of them had been foraging for dirt against the Templars. Meanwhile, Bethany and Ranalle had been sent out to recruit, while Alistair tried once more to win the ear of the Grand Cleric of Amaranthine.

A breeze ruffled Yara’s hair, and her nose wrinkled. She ran her fingers through her messy locks, before pulling out her hair-tie and redoing her pony tail. She hadn’t liked being separated from Bethany, but with the Templars so eager to provoke the mage, it had been wiser to keep her away. Still, it had been a long week, filled with eavesdropping, lurking, searching—amongst other things—but finally they’d come across a break. Yara had overheard some Templars talk about an ‘expedition’, and Nathaniel was currently searching the Templar-Lieutenant’s quarters for clues. Yara remained outside, keeping watch, but she wasn’t sure how much longer the Templar-Lieutenant would be away.

Voices started to drift from the path, and Yara held her breath. They were out of time. She left her post, glancing between the alleys. Come on, where was he…

At last she spotted Nathaniel emerging from the Templar-Lieutenant’s quarters. He gave a cautious glance around, before disappearing to the rear path. Yara hurried to his side and grabbed his sleeve, before he’d walk right into the approaching Templars. Nathaniel turned, brow raised.

“Well, aren’t you keen,” he commented. “You were right. The Templars are planning something big. I’ve found what we need, let’s go find Alistair.”

“Keep your voice down,” Yara warned. “The Templar-Lieutenant’s back.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed.

“I see,” he murmured. He pressed a parchment into her hand. “Then you leave first. I’ll follow.”

Yara stuffed the parchment into her pouch, then walked away. She kept a casual pace, not wanting to appear suspicious. Templar-Lieutenant Rylock was with two other men, and she paid little attention as they crossed paths. A middle-aged woman with mousy-brown hair and a scar above her left eyebrow, she had been mostly polite, even to Bethany. However, she continued to turn a blind eye to her fellow Templars, and that irked Yara to no end. As their leader, she needed to take responsibility for them, not condone their behaviour.

Sighing, she set her sights on the main tower. Alistair should have returned from the city by now. Just to confirm, she walked through the stables, and caught Alistair’s mount chewing on some hay. Satisfied, she hurried to the keep’s main entrance. She stormed through the hall towards the upper floors. At the second floor she turned, striding onto the landing.

Alistair’s door was shut, but Yara didn’t make to knock. Instead she removed the parchment from her pouch, curiosity overcoming her urgency. It was a letter bearing the Knight-Commander of Amaranthine’s signature, authorising further Templars to join Rylock’s expedition to a nearby mine. Yara frowned. Why did she need so many reinforcements?

“Good reading, eh?”

Yara jumped, almost dropping the parchment. Nathaniel chuckled. Yara’s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze. He’d caught up quickly.

“Just wanted to see what you’d found,” Yara said, trying to act nonchalant.

“Ah, always a doubter,” Nathaniel said, resting his hands on his hips. “I might not look it, but I’m not utterly useless, you know.”

“Did I say that?” Yara shook her head. She was not in the mood for his teasing. “Never mind, we need to show this to Alistair.”

She knocked on the door. Alistair called out, and the two entered his office. It was bigger than Stroud’s, but no less as messy. The desk was overflowing, and the rear bookshelf sagged from the weight of too many tomes. Duke was resting by the hearth. On sensing Yara, he let out a bark. He trotted over, his stubby tail wagging. Yara smiled, letting him lick her hand, as Alistair rose from his seat.

“If you’re here, I take it you’ve found something worth my while?” he said.

“Hope so,” Yara said. She pushed Duke back, then offered the parchment. “I don’t think you’re going to like it, though.”

Alistair took the note, reading it. His eyes widened.

“Maker’s breath, she can’t be serious!” He slammed his fist against the desk, toppling the papers. “She wants to lead an expedition to the silverite mine?” He crumpled the parchment in his hand. “Does she even care we spent the last two months sealing up the passages because the thaig beneath is still infested with darkspawn?”

“Really?” Yara blurted. “I assume she’s aware of that, right?”

“Oh, she knows. She just choses to ignore it,” Nathaniel said, leaning against the desk. “When the darkspawn first attacked here, that thaig was full of broodmothers. It was damned hard to get rid of them, too. Once we cleared them out, we managed to seal the entrance, but a few months ago the darkspawn began to emerge again. There must’ve been a connecting passage we missed.”

“That’s why I ordered the mine abandoned,” Alistair said, “until we had the forces to make it safe again. It was no good asking for an alliance with the Templars, either, because they aren’t resistant to the Blight sickness like we are.”

“So why is Rylock suddenly so eager?” Yara asked.

“She wants to make a name for herself, and probably get herself promoted,” Nathaniel scoffed. “That mine is stuffed to the brim with silverite, too, and worth a fortune.”

“Never mind she’s risking not only the lives of her men, but also the people of Amaranthine,” Alistair snarled. “If the Blight sickness infects even one Templar, and that Templar should return to the city…”

“Then we have to stop her,” Yara said, clenching her fists.

“Do you honestly think she’ll listen to us?” Nathaniel huffed. “I say let her led her men to death. She can reap what she sows.”

“The risk to the people is too much,” Alistair argued. He bit his lip, deliberating. “I really don’t like thinking along such lines, but…” He let out a breath. “You have to follow them. Should the worst happen, you might need to seal up the mines completely, whether they’re still inside or not.”

Yara’s eyes widened.

“You’d go that far?”

“I said should the worst happen,” Alistair said. “But you and Nathaniel can take steps to prevent that.” He paced the floor. “Try and impede their progress and force them to turn back, but minimise any casualties. If you can, find the darkspawn source as well and seal it.” He swallowed. “And if you suspect any one of them develops the Blight sickness…”

“We bury them,” Nathaniel finished.

Alistair winced.

“There’s no need to put it so bluntly,” he said. “Anyway, be careful. I’d send more help if I could, but that leaves too few of us here.”

“We’ll manage,” Yara said. “Did you have much luck with the Grand Cleric?”

“Not particularly,” Alistair admitted, “but if I send word about this, she might change her mind.” He glanced reluctantly to the papers on his desk. “Maker, if I’d have known being Warden-Commander would involve so much bureaucracy, I might’ve passed on the promotion.”

“Have fun,” Nathaniel smirked. He and Yara saluted, before heading out of the office. However, as Yara stepped forward, Duke growled. He weaved between her legs, and wouldn’t let her pass.

“Duke, stop it,” Alistair commanded. Duke let out whine, but didn’t move.

“Surely the hound doesn’t want to come with us?” Nathaniel shook his head. Duke’s whines grew louder, and Alistair rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright, you can go with them,” the Warden-Commander conceded. Duke barked happily, brushing up against Yara. She chuckled. “By the Maker, he’s certainly become very taken with you, Yara. Do take care of him, though. He’s not as quick as he was.”

“Of course,” Yara said, giving the mabari a scratch between the ears. “You’ll be a good boy, won’t you Duke?”

Duke wagged his tail eagerly. Yara smiled, and they left the room. Duke kept alongside her, and it was all she could do not trip over him. Though she’d not known the mabari for long, he did seem oddly familiar. Perhaps she’d owned a mabari herself in the past.

“I’ve never seen him so excited before,” Nathaniel said, as they descended the stairs. “Most of the time he just loafs in front of a fire, nibbling scraps. I was beginning to doubt he was a warhound at all.” He gave the dog a stern glare. “You better not get in the way, though.”

Duke nipped at Nathaniel’s ankles. The archer stumbled, almost falling, and he sneered. Yara giggled.

“Enough about him,” she said, pushing the mabari behind her. “You’ve been to these mines before, right?”

“Yes, and I still have the maps, too,” Nathaniel said. “We used to mine the silverite ourselves, until our numbers dwindled too much.” He let out a breath, his mood darkening. “We lost everything to defend Amaranthine. And I will not have the sacrifices of my fallen brother and sisters wasted by the ambitions of a petty fool.”

“We won’t let Rylock put the people in danger,” Yara vowed. “Even if it means ending the entire Amaranthine Templar Order.”

* * *

 

The silverite mine lay a few miles west of Vigil’s Keep. Enshrined in a deep valley, it was not easy to pick out between the hills. Yara, Duke and Nathaniel crouched behind the old ruins, watching as Rylock and her men cleared the blocked entrance. Nathaniel’s jaw was tense, and he flexed his fingers, fighting the temptation to draw his bow. Duke’s throat rumbled, and Yara held his collar.

“Be prepared for the worst,” Rylock ordered. “Remember, you mustn’t let any of the darkspawn touch you, else you’ll meet only with death.”

“Arrogant bitch,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath. “Even if she does manage to clear the darkspawn, she’s still risking a plague.” He clenched his fist. “I can’t believe Varla sold us out to them. She should’ve known better.”

“Anyone can make mistakes out of desperation,” Yara said.

“Agreed, and there’s been far too much of that lately,” Nathaniel added. “You’d think things would’ve calmed down after the Blight ended. I guess the Maker was enjoying himself too much to think about giving us a break.”

He returned his gaze to the Templars. The rubble had been removed, and they were starting to enter the mine.

“Looks like they’re done,” he commented. As the last Templar disappeared inside, he stood up. “We need to get ahead of them. If we take that branch passage north, we should find a way to cut them off.”

Nodding, Yara also rose to her feet. She picked up the pack they’d been given by a dwarf merchant—something to ‘help’ them seal the mines, should they need to do so in a hurry.

They approached the entrance; a looming archway of stone that descended into darkness. Wooden platforms filled the passage, and they made their way down the creaking ladders. Before they reached the bottom, Nathaniel lit a lantern. Ahead they could see just the Templars, who were marching towards the centre of the mine. Duke began growling again.

“Easy,” Yara soothed.

“This way,” Nathaniel said, pointing towards a doorway that lay parallel to the main passage. They walked briskly up the steep corridor. Yara stuck close to Duke, keeping a watchful eye out. The mabari had his ears pricked, alert for the finest noise.

It didn’t take long before the now-familiar crying sound echoed in her head. Yara grimaced, and even Nathaniel pulled a face.

“I didn’t think we’d sense darkspawn so soon,” she said.

“Yes. They’re far too close to the surface end for my liking,” Nathaniel replied. “What I’d like to know is how they’re getting through? Last I was here, we reactivated the dwarven seal, and they assured us it would hold for a few decades, at least.” He sighed. “Whatever the case, we can’t let the Templars get that far. Come on.”

They jogged to the end of the passage. Now they were on higher ground, overlooking the main corridor. A bridge linked their side to another tunnel, which was partly blocked with debris. Yara peered downward, picking out the Templar’s torches a short way behind. She chewed her lip, recalling the map Nathaniel had given her. The passage below was the only way further into the mine, as the other corridors made loops around. If they could therefore block this route…

Before she could voice her idea, the ground suddenly trembled. Dust spilled from the ceiling, and Yara pulled Duke beneath her, covering her head with her hands. Nathaniel groaned, dropping to his knees. The tremor soon ceased, but in its place the crying and shrieking grew louder. A flash of darkness crossed Yara’s vision, and her mouth went dry.

“Maker’s breath, there’s an entire hoard coming this way!” Pushing Duke aside, she crawled to the edge of the path. Sure enough, the howls grew louder from within the mine, and shadows moved across the rocks.

Nathaniel swore. He picked up his fallen bow and nocked an arrow.

“We can’t let a single one slip through,” he said. “But this is going to slow us down. We have to get further ahead.”

“Then let me go,” Yara said. “Help the Templars fight the darkspawn, and I’ll find out where they’re coming from.”

“It’s too risky to go alone!” Nathaniel argued.

“And if we both stay, Rylock will know we’re here, and we won’t be able to force them to turn back,” Yara protested. “Look, Duke can come with me. If there’s too many darkspawn, I’ll retreat, I swear. But this could be our only chance!”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to protest, but then the first line of darkspawn arrived. The Templars roared, drawing their weapons, and the rings of clashing steel danced through the cavern. Nathaniel hesitated, before he pushed Yara towards the bridge.

“Don’t make me regret this!” he said, stepping to the edge of the path. “Hurry!”

With a grateful nod, Yara grabbed the lantern and bolted across the planks. Duke ran with her, his fangs bared. She slipped through the rubble, coming to a tunnel that re-joined the main passage. The pack was heavy against her back, and she drew it closer, the echoes of fighting growing fainter.

Abruptly a darkspawn broke away from the main hoard, snarling. Yara dropped her lantern and snatched her sword, catching its strike just in time. She slammed her hilt into its jaw, then kicked it in the belly. It staggered, and Duke leapt, ripping its throat out with his teeth. The darkspawn groaned, sinking to the ground. Duke remained tense, his hackles raised.

“This way, boy!” Yara called. She grabbed the lantern and ran deeper into the passage. The soft pat of paws told her Duke was following.

After crossing through another branch passage, the walls changed from bare stone to carved walls. She’d entered the thaig. Swallowing, Yara kept a cautious pace. She could sense more darkspawn nearby, most likely hiding in the offside chambers. A low growl escaped Duke. He could smell them. Yara sighed. She’d have to get rid of them if she wanted to move unhindered.

Bracing her sword, she entered the first room. Two genlocks were there, and they ran straight for her. Yara swung her sword-arm, wounding the first, and it dropped to its knee. Her dagger sank deep into its chest, and it vomited blood. Its body crumpled, and Yara kicked it aside. Duke wrestled with the other, his teeth deep in its arm, but the darkspawn threw him off. Yara yelled, raising her sword, and severed the beast’s head from its neck.

The corpse collapsed, and Yara sheathed her weapons. She hurried Duke, who lay on his side, whining. She knelt beside the mabari, checking him over. His right foreleg was at an awkward angle, and when he stood, he was reluctant to put weight on it. Yara touched his paw, and her fingers came away wet with blood.

“Clumsy dog,” she muttered to herself. She fumbled in her pouch, finding a bandage, and quickly bound the wound. Duke whined, licking her face. The sensation set off a pang in Yara’s chest, and not just because of what had happened. “You stay here, alright?”

Duke howled, but did as he was told. He sat in front of the fallen darkspawn, as if guarding them.

“I’ll be back soon,” Yara promised.

She stood up, returning to the branch passage. She wiped the dog slobber off her cheek, her heart stirred. Such warmth and affection that only a beloved pet could have provoked; now she was certain she must’ve had a mabari hound before. By the Maker, if only she could remember…

“You there, stop!”

Yara froze. She spun around, only to find Templar-Lieutenant Rylock and another man with her. Her armour was soiled with darkspawn blood. The man drew his sword, wary.

“I should’ve known Warden-Commander Therin would stick his nose here as well,” Rylock said, her eyes narrowed. “These mines are the property of the Templar Order, not the Wardens. Leave immediately.”

“Don’t be insane,” Yara challenged. “You know this mine sits on top of a thaig that’s not fully sealed. You’re inviting disaster to the people of Amaranthine!”

“Ha, you don’t think I recognise a ruse when I see it?” Rylock shot back. “I know one of your Wardens deliberately re-opened the dwarven seal, trying to put us off from claiming the mine! That is why I’ve come here, to seal it again, and make the mines ours.”

Yara frowned. “What? Who re-opened it?”

“Some foolish elf, according to my reports,” Rylock said. “Regardless, his mistake needs rectifying immediately.”

“If what you’re saying is true…” Yara began.

“Don’t blame me for your Commander keeping information from you,” Rylock scoffed. “Either way, we both want the same thing right now. If you truly have the well-being of the people at heart, then help me seal the thaig.”

Yara stiffened. “How do I know you’re not sending me into a trap?”

“Oh please,” Rylock snorted. “Will you defy me for sake of your pride, and cause catastrophe? Or will you follow your Order’s creed and protect those who can’t defend themselves?”

Yara glanced aside. The thought of working with the Templar-Lieutenant made her stomach churn, as it would mean the Wardens would be indebted even more. Nonetheless, it seemed Rylock realised the threat about the unsealed thaig, and was not as reckless as she’d assumed.

“Fine.” Yara stood tall. “I’ll help you seal the thaig.”

Nodding, Rylock took the lead, and Yara fell into step behind. Their footfalls echoed in the empty passages, and she bit her lip. She didn’t believe Alistair had withheld information; he seemed genuinely unaware of why the darkspawn had come back. Perhaps this rogue elf Warden had an agenda of his own.

Finally they came to the end of the passage. A great dwarven seal stood there, and it gates were wide open. For the moment it was silent, and Yara couldn’t sense any nearby threat. Still, this was worse than Nathaniel’s fear about missing a connecting passage.

“How interesting,” Rylock murmured, rubbing her chin. “How would an elf know how to undo such complex dwarven technology?”

“Does it still work?” Yara asked.

“We’ll have to hope so,” Rylock said. “Taven, help the Warden close the gates.”

Yara scowled, disliking the direct order, but she obeyed anyway. Along with the other Templar, she gripped the cog-like structure and tried to make it turn. The mechanism groaned, but it wouldn’t budge. Even Rylock stepped in, alas it was not enough.

“Going to need some more hands here,” Taven said.

“Agreed,” Rylock said. “You return to the others and bring them down. The Warden and I will…”

Whatever else the Templar-Lieutenant had to say was wasted on Yara, as a sudden scream bellowed through her head. Her head snapped to the open gates, and her eyes widened.

“ _Get back!_ ”

Her warning was met with a deafening roar, and moments later a pair of ogres burst through. They screamed, their shoulders scraping the threshold of the gates. Yara leapt aside, rolling under the first one’s legs as it hammered its fist into the wall. The other swung at Taven, who cried out, swinging his sword like a madman. The blade drew blood, but the ogre barely reacted. It flung out its arm, catching Taven in the chest, and he went flying. He slammed into the wall and slumped over, unmoving.

Rylock snarled, making her charge at the second ogre. Recovering to her feet, Yara brought forth her blades. But before she could act, her vision blurred. Her breath caught. What? No, not again!

_I do not hesitate…_

“Agh!” Rylock cried; the ogre had grabbed her. It let out another shriek, crushing her between its fingers. The Templar-Lieutenant screamed, and Yara broke free before her daydream took hold. Snarling, she raced towards the ogre’s defenceless back. Her sword was a whirlwind, striking at every piece of exposed flesh. The ogre bellowed, finally releasing Rylock. Yara didn’t stop, tearing deeper, her yells mixing with the ogre’s. Then she came to its neck, and she aimed her sword. The ogre, however, had other ideas. Suddenly it reached back, snatching Yara and throwing her aside. Yara yelped, hitting the ground, hard.

The ogre roared. It re-joined its companion, then swiped at the wall. The stone collapsed, and Yara rolled away, coughing on the dust. The ogres lumbered away, heading upwards and into the mines. Yara tried to get up, but pain sang through her ankle, and she dropped to the floor again.

_Maker’s breath, the others!_

Digging deep, Yara clenched her teeth and forced herself to stand. Her ankle protested, but she made herself limp forward. She must’ve sprained it. By some miracle Taven lay against the wall, unconscious but still breathing. Rylock, however, was not in a good way. She was half-buried in rubble, her armour cracked and bloody.

Yara swore, halting at the Templar-Lieutenant’s side. She tossed the debris aside, trying to free her. As the rocks fell away, her eyes widened. Rylock’s entire torso was soaked crimson.

“Are they…defeated?” Rylock gasped.

“No, they’re heading into the mines,” Yara said.

“Maker…no!” Rylock gripped Yara’s hand. “My men cannot…face such beasts. Do not…let them die!”

“Lieutenant…”

“I…underestimated the darkspawn,” Rylock said. “We need…to keep Amaranthine…safe.” She closed her eyes. “Please…save them…and seal the thaig.”

“I’ll do everything in my power,” Yara said. Rylock managed a slight nod, and then her breathing ceased.

Yara murmured a prayer for the Templar-Lieutenant, before rising to her feet. Her ankle continued to sting, but she knew better than to remove her boot. She would have to bear with it. She whistled, and Duke limped out of his room.

“Looks like we’re both walking wounded,” Yara said, stroking the mabari. “We need to get to Nathaniel.”

She hobbled over to Taven and shook him, hard. He groaned, slowly returning to consciousness.

“Oh Maker…” His eyes fell to Rylock’s body, and he caught his breath. “No, not Lieutenant Rylock!” He made to crawl to her, but Yara held him back.

“I’m sorry, but the ogres escaped,” Yara said. “They’ve gone into the mines. Your men won’t stand a chance. We have to hurry, then seal the thaig for good.”

“But…”

“It was Rylock’s dying wish,” Yara asserted. “Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain.”

That seemed to reach Taven, and his eyes narrowed. He stood up and reclaimed his sword. As he made for the exit, Yara followed, but quickly winced. Taven paused.

“You are hurt,” he said. “Please, remain here. I will get to the others.”

“Wait, I have a companion in the mines as well,” Yara said. “His name is Nathaniel. Tell him that you spoke to me, and he’ll help.”

“I thank you, Warden,” Taven said. “Maker keep you safe.”

He ran into the passage. Yara sighed, knowing it would be impossible to keep up with him. Duke whined, emerging from the side room, and limped towards her. He nuzzled her leg, and she buried her hand in his fur. The dwarven gates stared back at her, and she sighed. Had they been able to close them, Rylock would have been spared.

As she peered into the darkness, however, a strange feeling came over her. Not the terror of more darkspawn, but something else. It was almost…inviting.

The lure grew stronger, and Yara frowned. Against her better judgement, she started to limp towards the gates. It was madness to approach—her Taint would bring the darkspawn running! And with her ankle sprained, she would not last long against them, ogre or otherwise. Yet her legs kept propelling her, and then a voice brushed her thoughts.

_Do you want them back?_

Yara stopped walking. The darkness remained the same, still and lifeless.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. Her question was met with silence. Her heart began to pound, and she licked her lips. She was going mad…

Then Duke suddenly barked. Despite his wounded leg, he bounded forwards, right through the gates.

“Duke!” Yara staggered after him, clawing at the walls for support. She came to the first gate, and then she stared.

A figure was kneeling in the darkness, petting the dog’s head. Duke rumbled in approval. The figure remained mostly in the shadows, so Yara couldn’t pick out their face. Her feet crunched on the glass of her broken lantern.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The figure stopped petting Duke. Slowly, they rose to their feet, but didn’t emerge into the light.

“An old, forgotten friend.” A man’s voice, laced with a thick Antivan accent. He gave a short laugh. “He said this would bring you here, though I never imagined…” He cut himself short. “Let me ask you again, she who’s lost her way. Do you want them back?”

“What are you talking about?” Yara asked. Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”

“Ah, so you do still hold some sense,” the man teased. “Yes, I do mean that. Of course I cannot offer them to you. I merely ask, because should that continue to be your desire, you must know that it will not be without consequence.”

Yara blinked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you want the memories of your past back,” the man said, “they will come with a price. A burden that will affect the future of all of Thedas, and all the souls who thrive on her.”

Yara froze. “How…How do you know about…”

“He’s given me knowledge and power far beyond that which I used to be,” the man said. “It seemed a good deal at the time. But my will is no longer my own. I cannot tell you any more than what I have been allowed.” He reached for his belt, producing a dagger. He ran his finger over the blade, before he threw it at Yara’s feet. “However, that does not stop me from giving you clues.” He turned, making to walk back into the Deep Roads. “I must leave now.”

“Wait!” Yara tried to walk forward, but an unseen force kept her back. “You haven’t told me…”

“I have told you all I can,” the man said. “Think on my words, old friend. Should you still want to uncover the truth, then seek me in the Deep Roads once more.”

He walked into the darkness. Yara made to take chase, but her ankle gave way and she fell to her knees. She called out again, but was met with silence. He’d gone.

Duke retreated from the corridor. He pushed his nose into her chest, whining. Yara’s hands shook. Taking the mabari’s collar, she looked to the dagger the man had left behind. It was finely made—most likely custom made to fit his hand. She lifted it up, but without proper light, she could make little out.

She closed her eyes, trying to recall as much as possible. It had to be a hallucination, a trick. How could he have known about her missing memories? And why come out with such a warning, too? Yet while his words had shaken her, it was his voice that nagged her most. He’d claimed they had been old friends, and her heart knew it to be true.

 _But where had she heard that Antivan drawl before_ …

“Thank the Maker, you’re still here!”

Nathaniel’s voice rang through the passage. He leapt over the rubble, and came to Yara’s side. Several Templars were right behind him. Taven had also returned, and he ordered his men to the dwarven gate mechanism.

“Taven told me what happened,” Nathaniel said. “And those ogres weren’t easy to defeat.” His eyes fell to her wounds, and he growled. “Why didn’t you fall back like we agreed?!”

“I asked the ogres nicely, but they weren’t very accommodating,” Yara answered.

“Well, you need to work on your persuasive skills,” Nathaniel answered. “You were bloody lucky.” He surveyed the open gates, his brows narrowed. “Maker’s breath, I can’t believe some idiot really _did_ open this!” He looked to the pack on Yara’s back, shaking his head. “Once we’ve sealed it again, we’re going to make sure nobody can ever set foot here again.”

* * *

 

It was a sombre journey back to Vigil’s Keep. With the Templar’s help, the dwarven gates had been shut, and Yara and Nathaniel had used the explosives to cause a massive cave-in. Now the thaig was inaccessible, and the mines free of darkspawn. Still, it had not been without cost. Many Templars had perished alongside Rylock, and their morale was shattered. The survivors had started to question why the expedition had gone ahead in the first place, and it was all Taven could do to keep order in his ranks.

Yara let out a breath, riding behind Nathaniel. She’d had plenty of her own problems to mull over. She’d not spoken about her encounter with the Antivan man; was not even sure if it had actually happened. But Duke’s reaction and the dagger in her pack begged to differ. She was eager to look into it right away, however she knew it would have to wait. There was a lot to tell the Warden-Commander.

The guards opened the keep gates, and Nathaniel stopped at the stables. He helped Yara dismount, and she winced as her leg touched the ground. The Templar healer had seen to her ankle, but she was going to be limping for a few days. Thankfully Duke had responded well to a poultice, and had even managed to walk the journey himself. He barked at Yara, his tail wagging.

Yara turned, looking towards the main tower. Taking her pack from the saddle, she was about to walk over when Taven called out.

“Warden, I would like to speak with Warden-Commander Therin urgently,” he said. “Would I be able to accompany you?”

Yara glanced to Nathaniel, who shrugged.

“I’m sure he’ll want to hear your side as well,” she said.

Taven smiled. “Thank you.”

They made their way to the tower. The door to the war chamber was open, so Yara made straight for it. Alistair was there, along with another familiar face sitting on the benches.

“Yara!” Bethany strode over, tackling her in a hug. “Maker, you look terrible.”

“Nice to see you too,” Yara shot back, returning the embrace. “When did you get back?”

“Just an hour or so ago,” Bethany said. “Alistair told us you were in the mines. We were getting worried you were taking so long.”

“Yes, and I’m glad to see you both back in one piece,” Alistair said. His eyes then fell to Taven. “Where is your Lieutenant?”

“She unfortunately perished in the thaig,” Taven said. “I have taken temporary command, and wish to speak with you as a matter of urgency.”

Alistair stiffened, and Bethany gasped.

“I…I’m sorry for your loss,” Alistair said, finding his voice again.

“I accept your condolences,” Taven said. He gestured to Yara and Nathaniel. “Were if not for your scouts, we would’ve all been wiped out. We sorely underestimated the threat of the darkspawn, and for that I must apologize.”

“The mines were still overrun, then,” Alistair murmured.

“Not any longer,” Yara said. “But we found the dwarven seal re-opened, and Rylock told me an elf Warden was responsible.”

“Elf Warden?” Alistair shook his head. “That’s disturbing. Until Ranalle joined us, we had no elves in our ranks. I will have to look into that.”

“Anyway, we’ve restored the seals, and detonated the explosives,” Nathaniel said. “It’s all but impossible to access now, and we’ll keep it that way this time.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alistair said. “Good work.”

“Which brings me to my final point,” Taven said. He drew himself to his full height. “We see now that your Warden duties cannot be performed by pretenders. Our place is in the city, not here.” He bowed his head. “So as of today, as current leading officer of the Templars, I announce our full and complete withdrawal from Vigil’s Keep.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Come on, aren’t you done yet?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, as Bethany continued to browse the weapon merchant’s shop. Yara stood in the doorway, shaking her head. It was supposed to have been a short trip to Amaranthine to restock supplies, yet all hopes of a quick return had been dashed when Bethany had laid eyes on the merchant’s staff collection.

“It’s not easy to find a decent staff,” Bethany chided, running her finger along the different woods. “And I’m quite sick of using glorified tree-branches. Now I can finally get something worth my while!”

Yara laughed. The mage was like a child in a sweetshop, wide-eyed and spoilt for choice.

“They all do the same job, surely,” Nathaniel grumbled.

“I could say the same for your pithy bows,” Bethany spat. “They’re all the same, right? Just pull the string and…”

“Of course not!” Nathaniel’s cheeks flushed. “They all have different grips, string tensions, counter-weights, and certain woods have different…”

“Then you’ll understand every mage has a staff that suits them best, as well,” Yara broke in. “But seriously, you’ve been here for over an hour, Beth. You’ll have to make a decision sometime.”

“But I can’t choose between the pinewood Archangel, the red oak Kingstave or the ironwood Ashsear!” Bethany whined. She glanced between the staffs once more, then turned to the merchant. “What’s the best price you can give me for all three?”

Nathaniel groaned, holding his head in his hands. Yara chuckled. It was endearing to see Bethany in a more upbeat mood for a change. She’d not taken well to recruiting, and her tainted dreams had started to resurface as well. It was fortunate that Alistair had given them some lighter duties to take her mind off things.

As Bethany continued to barter, Yara yawned, leaning against the door-frame. Something in her pack dug into her hip, and she scowled. Shuffling the pack off her shoulder, she foraged inside for the offending item. The mysterious dagger came to her hand, and she bit her lip. She’d been hoping to take it to the blacksmith, but with Nathaniel rushing them, she’d thought it best to leave for another time. However, since Bethany was so overwhelmed right now…

“Hey, Nathaniel, mind waiting a bit longer?” Yara asked, letting the dagger drop into her bag. “There’s something I need to do really quickly.”

“You can’t leave me with Bethany’s out of control spending spree,” Nathaniel growled. “Where are you off to, anyway?”

“Just to see the smith,” Yara said. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to buy anything. I just need my sword hilt re-tipping.”

Nathaniel ground his teeth, glancing to Bethany. She remained deep in conversation with the merchant. Eventually he let out a breath, shaking his head.

“Alright, but you’d better not take long,” he warned. “If Alistair complains about how late we’re going to be…”

“Thanks!” Yara didn’t wait for him to finish and hurried out of the shop.

Almost at once she was swarmed by the crowd, so she crept through the smaller alleys towards the master smith’s workshop. Amaranthine remained as busy as ever, and it had changed very little during her absence. The storms had come back in full force, too, leaving puddles in the cobbled streets. The darkening clouds and moist scent promised more rain, so Yara drew up her hood. She didn’t want to get caught in a downpour again.

When she came to the main gates, she paused. A deep longing washing over her, and she sighed, fingering her pendant chain. How easy it would be to slip through and visit Viren and Eliza again, but she knew better than to try Nathaniel’s patience further. Besides, it would take several hours to reach their house on foot. She would have to save that trip for another time, after Vigil’s Keep had been restored to its former glory.

Finally, after weaving between carts and horses and politely turning down the offers of various street vendors, Yara reached her destination. Master Allen’s workshop was by far the biggest building in the merchant’s quarter, laden with the scent of smoke and iron. Yara had met him once before, and he’d crafted her current blades when she’d started to retrain. He was a taciturn man, preferring to listen rather than speak, but Yara knew he had contacts all over Thedas. If anyone could trace the story behind the dagger, it would be him. Perhaps then she’d be able to make sense of the Antivan man’s warning, too.

Pushing open the oak door, Yara entered the front of the workshop. Her eyes watered from the smoke, and she forced back a cough as she stepped towards the front counter. She made to ring the bell, but then a blonde-haired boy poked his head from under the desk.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“I was wondering if I could speak to Master Allen?” Yara said. “Is he around?”

“He’s not serving customers right now,” the boy answered. “But if you want to buy a blade, I can show you what we’ve got?”

“Actually, I wanted his opinion on a weapon,” Yara replied. “If he’s not around, though, I’ll come back another time.”

She turned, meaning to leave, when the doors opened and a young girl walked in. The girl pulled back her hood, her brown curls falling out, and slung her bag off her shoulder. Their eyes met, and Yara gasped. She’d recognise those midnight blue irises anywhere.

“Eliza?”

The girl stared for a moment, puzzled, but then her eyes lit up.

“Maker’s breath, is that you, Yara?”

Yara broke into a smile, and Eliza dropped her bag. She tackled Yara in a hug, and Yara laughed, returning the embrace. It seemed her wish had come true after all.

“Oh Maker, it’s so good to see you!” Eliza withdrew, noting Yara’s uniform. “I see you’re with the Wardens again. Are you stationed at the Vigil now?”

“I am, yes,” Yara said. “You look well. How’s your father?”

“I’m good, and he’s the same as ever,” Eliza said, smirking. “I’m just helping him on his rounds today.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Maker, we have so much catching up to do! That is, unless you have to return to the Keep...”

Before Yara could answer, the boy behind the counter caught his breath. He vaulted the desk and stopped at Eliza’s side. Yara blinked.

“Ah, you’re with Healer Viren?” he asked. “My uncle’s been in so much pain, you need to see him right away!”

“Master Allen’s not well?” Yara raised a concerned brow.

“Oh, it’s just a bit of gout,” Eliza said dismissively. “Damned painful I know, but nothing one of Father’s tonics won’t fix.”

“Then hurry up and give it to him!” The boy tugged at Eliza’s hand, and she rolled her eyes. She flashed Yara an apologetic smile, but before the boy could drag her into the workshop, a man approached from the smoky shadows. He had broad-shoulders, and his auburn hair was unruly. He was also walking with a limp, unwilling to put pressure on his left foot.

“Cai, don’t be so rude,” he said in a deep baritone. At once the boy released Eliza, and Master Allen bowed. “My apologies, Miss Eliza, but thank you for stopping by. I wouldn’t have called, but this flare seems particularly bad, and I’ve a lot of commissions to finish.”

“It’s no problem, Master Allen,” Eliza said. She returned to her discarded bag, then produced a bottle filled with pale liquid. Master Allen took it gratefully, when his gaze fell to Yara. Recognition slowly dawned, and he gave a polite nod.

“Good to see you again, Miss Yara,” he greeted. “I see you’ve taken up with the Wardens now. How are those blades working for you? Do they need fixing up?”

“Oh no, they’re still going strong,” Yara answered, impressed that the smith remembered her. “But I had something else I wanted your advice on.”

“Oh?” Master Allen pulled out a stool and sat, relieved to take the weight off his foot. “Not sure if I can help, but I’ll try my best.”

Yara pulled her pack off her shoulders and brought out the dagger.

“Can you tell me anything about this?” She offered it hilt-first, and Master Allen clasped his fingers around it. He examined it carefully, checking its weight, grip and edge, and murmured to himself.

“It’s a fine dagger indeed,” he commented, turning it over. “Antivan made, for an assassin’s hand.” He returned it to Yara. “I hope that was given as a token, my dear, and not as spoils. For it’s not every day one can say they own a weapon made for an Antivan Crow.”

Yara’s jaw dropped. She looked to the dagger in disbelief. She knew of the famed assassin guild, but that made her encounter in the Deep Roads even more confusing. What was an Antivan Crow doing down there? Further, how had a lowly _assassin_ known about her lost memories? And why had he threatened that recovering them would come at a great cost?

Just what darkness still lay within her past...

“Careful who you show that to,” Master Allen went on. “Even if their assassins fail, which they rarely do, such things are still considered the property of the Crows. Some can take quite drastic measures to see them returned.”

“I see.” Yara returned the dagger to her pack. “Thank you, Master Allen. I hope you get well soon.”

Master Allen chuckled. “As do I, girl. But Healer Viren’s medicines have yet to disappoint me, so I think I’ll be in good hands.” He reached into his pocket, and tossed Eliza several silver coins. “Give your father my best regards, Miss Eliza. And take care, Miss Yara. Should you or the Wardens need any blade-work doing, please come and talk to me.”

“I’ll let the Warden-Commander know,” Yara said. Both she and Eliza bowed, then left the workshop.

Yara took a breath, glad to be back in fresher air, although it did little to clear her mind. Once again her answers lay buried within more questions, and she was frustrated she couldn’t make the pieces fit together. It was as if something were blocking her thoughts, preventing her from seeing the patterns she _knew_ existed. She would have to tell everything to Bethany on their return to the keep.

“So, do you have to rush back?” Eliza asked, breaking Yara’s thoughts. “It would be nice to catch up over some tea.”

Yara sighed.

“I’d love to, Eliza, but I’m already pushing my luck being here,” she said. “I’m not moving from Vigil’s Keep, though, so send me a message if you’re in town. I’m sure Alistair won’t miss me if I give him some notice.”

“Alistair?” Eliza repeated.

“He’s the Warden-Commander,” Yara answered.

“Ah, I think I might’ve seen him when he first came to the keep,” Eliza said. “He seems a nice guy.” She flashed Yara a wink. “So you’re on first name terms with him already, hmm? That sounds promising.”

“Oh don’t start,” Yara scoffed. “We all call him that.”

“Is that so? Well, you’re going to have to tell me all about it,” Eliza laughed. “I mean let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger, and...”

“There you are!”

Yara spun around, only to face Bethany’s stern glare. The mage stormed across the street, a new staff across her back, and her hands on her hips. Nathaniel was no-where to be seen.

“Nathaniel’s not happy,” Bethany said. “He’s loading the carts, and he said he’s not going to wait for us if we’re not there when he finishes.”

“Look who’s talking,” Yara chided. “I’m not the one who spent an hour and a half fawning over staffs.”

Bethany’s cheeks reddened. “Well you never said you wanted to see the blacksmith!”

“And come between a mage and her power? I’m not that foolish,” Yara teased. Bethany pouted, and Eliza laughed. The mage turned to her, bemused. Yara put her arm around Eliza’s shoulders. “Oh, let me introduce you. This is Healer Viren’s daughter, Eliza. Eliza, this is my friend Bethany.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eliza said, offering her hand.

Bethany blinked, for a moment caught off-guard. Most of the other Amaranthine citizens had given her a wide berth; something that hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“It’s nice to shake someone’s hand when it’s offered,” Yara murmured, nudging Bethany. The mage scowled at her, before she took Eliza’s hand.

“Ah, it’s lovely to meet you as well,” Bethany said, recovering from her daze. “Yara’s spoken very highly of you and your father. She has a lot to thank you for.”

“She certainly kept us busy,” Eliza said, “but I’m glad to see she’s doing well, and keeping good company, too.”

Bethany lowered her gaze. Yara raised a brow.

“Something wrong, Beth?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Bethany answered, her voice quiet. “I’m...just not used to...”

“Being treated as a person?” Eliza finished. Bethany remained silent, but her eyes betrayed her feelings. “It’s alright.” Eliza gave the mage’s staff a gentle tap. “The Templars may have a lot of sympathizers here, but I’m not one of them.” She eyed Yara slyly. “You know, forget what I said about the Warden-Commander. She’s way cuter.”

Yara’s face blossomed. “Eliza! What...we’re not...you know...”

“We’re just friends!” Bethany said, the colour of her cheeks rivalling Yara’s.

“Oh, of course you are,” Eliza said, her eyes still glinting mischievously. “It’s good to know I can still wind you up so easily, Yara.”

Yara rolled her eyes.

“Cheeky girl!” She gave Eliza a playful poke. Eliza giggled. Even Bethany found her smile returning, and Yara wondered if Eliza had made her comment on purpose.

“Well, I’d best not keep you,” Eliza said. “Wouldn’t want your boss to get angry.” She gave Yara another hug. “Let me know when you’re around the city again, and I’ll come running.”

“I will,” Yara said. “Give Viren my best, as well.”

“Will do.” Eliza bowed to Bethany. “Nice talking with you, Bethany. I’m sure I’ll see you again as well.”

“Farewell,” Bethany said. With a wave, Eliza vanished into the crowd. Once she was gone, Yara let out a breath. She turned to the mage, who was staring somewhat wistfully. Quickly though Bethany shook off her expression.

“You alright?” Yara asked.

“She’s really something, isn’t she,” Bethany said, though Yara did catch a hint of hurt in her eyes. “Amber was just the same...” Before she’d get caught in her memories, the mage shook her head and clasped Yara’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to Nathaniel before he bites our heads off even more.”

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two year timeskip ahoy! Also this chapter got pretty depressing, just to warn you...

Yara sat in the rear courtyard of Vigil’s Keep, staring at the sky. The last days of summer were falling behind, and the evening sunlight danced off her shoulders. She was perched on a lone bench, overlooking a small garden. It was rare to have a moment to herself these days, so she was going to savour it. As she watched the clouds drift by, she smiled, enjoying the scent of the flowers. It seemed like only yesterday when she and Bethany had arrived to a decrepit Templar-filled fortress. Now, two years later, Vigil’s Keep was fully restored, the envy of every outpost in Ferelden, and very much cemented as Yara’s permanent home.

A breeze ruffled her hair, and Yara closed her eyes. Her time at the keep might’ve passed quickly, but it had certainly not been quiet. Even without their missions to monitor darkspawn activity, Alistair always seemed to have his hands full. There had been another challenge from the new Templar-Lieutenant—dismissed easily enough—and then a rogue apostate had infiltrated the ranks, trying to incite rebellion. Yara and Bethany had worked tirelessly to put that down, and that had earned them both promotions. Following that, a senior Warden from Orlais had visited without announcement, looking to usurp Alistair, but he was no match, and he departed with his tail between his legs.

Yet despite overcoming such troubles, Yara was not satisfied. Her missing memories remained out of reach, and that was enough to dispel all her other successes. Her attempts to contact the Antivan Crows had been met with silence, and she hadn’t returned to the Deep Roads since they had sealed the silverite mine, either. Even Bethany had tried everything she could think of to help; Fade memory techniques, sleeping spells, hypnosis, even dream potions. But even Yara’s visions had fallen away to almost nothing, and that scared her. It seemed the further she moved ahead, the more her past fell behind, and the harder it was to remember. One day, perhaps those pieces would disappear forever, and she would never get them back.

Yet part of her wondered if that was really such a bad thing. For in the face of these countless setbacks, Yara’s desire to seek out her former life had dwindled considerably. After all, what good would it bring her? She was settled with the Wardens, performing her duties and using her skills for the benefit of the kingdom. She had a roof over her head and food on her plate, she’d formed wonderful friendships, and had risen to every challenge thrown at her.

Perhaps she _was_ a fool to keep chasing after shadows…

“Ah, there you are, Yara.”

Yara looked up. Alistair had entered the garden. He picked his way through the flower beds, smiling, although when he reached her it swiftly faded.

“I have some news,” he began. “You know Duke’s not been well recently? Well, the kennel master’s given me his report.” He hesitated. “He…doesn’t think he’ll last the day.”

Yara’s eyes widened. She’d grown very attached to the mabari, despite their short time together. He’d always bark a greeting, or lick her hand and pine for a belly rub. And while she knew the hound had already lived longer than expected, it still broke her heart to know he wouldn’t be around any longer.

“I thought you might like to see him,” Alistair went on, his eyes downcast. “Before…well…”

“Yes, I would.” Yara stood up. “Thanks for thinking of me, Alistair.”

Alistair nodded, then led the way to the lower grounds. They crossed the narrow paths, acknowledging fellow Wardens along the way, before stopping at the kennels. The kennel master bowed, unlocking the first kennel. It was thick with the scent of damp hay. Duke lay inside. He was curled up with his head on his forepaws, his breathing slow. Yara felt a lump rise in her throat. His fur had turned grey and lacklustre, and his eyes had lost their sparkle.

Both she and Alistair approached the mabari. Yara stroked his muzzle, and Duke let out a soft whine. He nuzzled her hand, recognising the scent.

“It’s okay boy,” Yara soothed, rubbing his cheek. Duke grumbled, settling again. Alistair knelt beside him, his hand on the mabari’s back.

“You’ve done your masters proud, Duke,” he murmured. “Both me and Elissa.” His voice softened. “You’ll get to see her very soon.”

Yara frowned. It wasn’t the first time she’d learnt the Hero of Ferelden’s name, but the way Alistair said it…she shook her head. It was nothing; another thread that would lead no-where.

They remained by Duke’s side for a long while. Finally, as the sun dipped towards the horizon, Duke’s head slumped forward. The movements of his ribs ceased, and his heart beat no more. Yara’s eyes prickled, and she held a hand to her face. She’d not thought his loss would affected her so deeply. But he’d been so affectionate and loyal; he would always hold a soft spot in her heart.

“It’s always hard to say goodbye.” Alistair ran his fingers through Duke’s fur, which was still warm. He let out a deep sigh. “He was a good hound, but he was more than that. He was my last link to _her_.” He turned away, and Yara swore she caught something glisten on his cheek. “I guess…I hoped he would always be around, to remind me.” He swallowed. “At least they’re together now.”

Yara could only nod. She sat with Duke for a moment, slowly regaining control of herself. At last she gave Duke’s body a parting embrace, then rose to her feet. Although it hurt to lose the mabari, she also felt as if a chapter of her life had closed. Nothing truly lasted forever, and it was better to cherish the present than lament over what had been lost.

“Sometimes it’s good to remember the past,” Yara said, “but it shouldn’t rule you.”

Despite himself, Alistair chuckled.

“Wise words, Yara,” he said. “I’ll keep them to heart.”

Nodding, Yara left the kennels, wondering if she was as convinced by her own advice.

* * *

 

Bethany sighed, for perhaps the twentieth time that afternoon. Yara frowned, as their cart jolted across the uneven road. The mage had been unusually quiet, but as much as Yara pried, she refused to say what was bothering her. It was a few weeks since Duke’s passing, and the two were heading to Highever, along with Nathaniel and Ranalle, to check reports about darkspawn sightings on the coast. Yara had welcomed the chance to keep busy, but for some reason Bethany had withdrawn into herself. Since morning she’d refused to make eye contact, and had mumbled her way through conversation. Most odd was that she’d been fine the previous day, barely able to contain her excitement about leaving town for a change.

The cart hit another rut, and Yara winced. She almost would’ve preferred riding, but Alistair hadn’t the mounts to spare, and Bethany was definitely not in the right mood. The mage looked out of the window, arms folded, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. Yara watched her none too discretely. She knew the mage could feel her gaze, yet Bethany continued to ignore her. _Another_ sigh escaped her, and Yara clenched her fist.

“Alright, enough’s enough,” she demanded. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Beth. You’ve been moping all day. This isn’t like you.”

Bethany remained silent, but for a brief moment her eyes met Yara’s.

“Look, I understand if it’s personal,” Yara said. “But you look so down. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Before she could finish, Bethany abruptly reached for her pack. She unfastened the flaps, then produced a parchment. She threw it into Yara’s lap without a word. Yara raised a brow, and held the paper to the light. It was a letter, its seal unbroken. Her eyes fell to the signature, and she gasped.

  1. _Hawke_.



“It’s from your sister?” Yara asked.

“Yes.” Bethany’s voice was quiet. She was starting at the floor.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Yara turned the letter over. It sported several crest marks; it seemed to have travelled across most of the Free Marches and even Orlais before landing at Amaranthine. The courier had certainly had a job to deliver it to the right person. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

Bethany rested her head in her hands.

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just…it’s been so long, and I never wrote to her to say how I’ve been. Not even to say I survived. Or that I was sorry.”

“It’s never too late to start.” Yara tapped the parchment. “See the crest marks? Amber went to a lot of trouble to see that you got this.”

“But after the things I said to her…”

“It’s been more than two years, Beth,” Yara cut her off. “If Amber’s taken the effort to reach out to you, you should at least see what she has to say.”

She offered the letter back. Bethany took it, and gave a slow nod. She brushed back her hair.

“I’m being such an idiot about this.” She ran her finger over the seal. “I’ll open it in Highever.” She managed a smile. “Thanks, Yara.”

“You always have to make things more difficult than they need to be,” Yara said, leaning back in her seat. “I mean, I still can’t believe Nathaniel let you buy all three of those staffs.”

“Are you _still_ going on about that?” Bethany scoffed. “I use them all, and they’re suited for different conditions!” She sneered at Yara’s swords. “At least I upgrade my equipment when offered. Your blades are looking rustier by the day.”

“They function perfectly fine,” Yara answered.

“Ha, I bet they can’t even cut carrots now!”

“Well, if a certain mage could control her spending habits, maybe there’d be some funds left for the rest of us…”

And so their banter continued, Bethany’s darker mood all but forgotten. It was in higher spirits then that they entered Highever town. Yara had only visited in passing, both when she left with the Bronze Blades and when she returned as a Warden, so this would be the first time she’d be staying the night. Although slightly smaller than Amranthine, it was no less as bustling, even for the late evening. The sea air was stronger, too, and Yara licked her lips. It was a scent she still adored, although it no longer provoked deeper feelings like it used to. Not many things did, these days.

Their cart rolled to a stop. Yara stepped forward, opening the door, and the two jumped back to the dirt ground. Nathaniel remained in the driver’s seat, while Ranalle descended from his side.

“Seems we’ve made good time,” she said. “We should stock up as best we can and enjoy the hospitality of the inn. It may be some time before we have a proper roof over our heads again.”

“Ah, the joys of being a Warden out in the field,” Nathaniel quipped. “I’ll get us some rooms.”

“I will find us some decent maps,” Ranalle said. “Creator knows the ones Alistair gave me are out of date.”

“I suppose it never hurts to have spare lyrium,” Bethany shrugged. “Shall we, Yara?”

“You know me, I’m always up for a bit of shopping,” Yara smirked. “Maybe _I’ll_ get to buy a sword this time.”

“Oh by Andraste’s…” Bethany rolled her eyes and grabbed Yara’s arm. “Come on.”

* * *

 

Soft creaking broke Yara from sleep, and she opened a bleary eye. It was still dark outside, and pale moonlight painted shadows across the floorboards. Grumbling, she rolled aside, her forearm covering her eyes. For some reason it had taken her a long while to drift off, and she was irked to have woken after only a few hours. Sighing, she let her arm drop, and her gaze fell to Bethany’s bed.

It was empty.

Bemused, Yara sat up, studying the disturbed sheets. She could only have gone out recently. Then she realised Bethany’s staff, pack and boots were also gone. Amber’s letter remained on the bedside, its seal broken.

Eyes wide, Yara shot out of bed. She padded across the floor, lighting the bedside candle, then picked up the letter. A tiny voice in her head told her to stop, that it was not for her eyes, but she wrestled it down. Bethany wasn’t one to go for late walks, and there was no reason why she’d need to take all her belongings. The letter was her only clue.

Steeling herself, Yara began to read.

“ _Dearest Bethany,_

_First, I hope when this reaches you, you are doing well. Anders managed to get in touch with Stroud, who told me the good news. I’m so relieved you managed to survive, but I miss you dearly, and wish so much we could still be together. I meant to write you sooner, but things have been…hectic. Our expedition went well, and I managed to buy back the Amell estate. But there’s been lots of tension with the mages and Templars and a spike in blood mages, so perhaps it was fortunate you got out when you did. I hope Yara’s kept you good company and that she’s doing alright as well._

_Yet now I must come to the crux of this letter, and I’m hesitating. I’ve written and re-written this over a hundred times, and still I don’t know the best way to tell you. So I’ve let Varric do the honours._

The handwriting changed slightly.

_Hey Sunshine, Varric here. This is difficult for Hawke, so I’m just going to outright say it. We have some bad news. I’m really sorry, but your dear mother is no longer with us. She was the victim of a cruel blood mage’s plot, and we were too late to save her. Hawke was with Leandra in her final moments, though, and with her last breath she spoke highly of both of you. She was beyond proud that you’d found a place with the Grey Wardens, and that Amber had reclaimed the Amell estate and restored her family name. It was a tragic affair from start to finish, but know that Amber gave the man responsible the justice he deserved, so Leandra’s spirit can rest in peace._

The handwriting changed again, the style a little shakier.

_I didn’t want to have to write such awful tidings, Beth. I’m sorry. I miss her more than anything, as I still miss Carver since the day we lost him. You’re all the family I have left now, and I hope one day we’ll meet again. Know that I think of you often, and carry you in my heart, always._

_Your beloved sister,_

_Amber_ ”

Yara dropped the letter, her heart starting to pound. Maker…she had to find Bethany right away!

She shoved on her boots and leggings, before grabbing a cloak and leaving the room. At this hour the inn was almost empty, save for a few snoring patrons. Not caring for quietness, Yara bolted down the stairs and out into the streets. It was a clear night, the stars perfectly reflected in the calm waters of the harbour. Yara glanced around, frantic. No-one was around, and she swore. Where would Bethany have gone?

A bell sounded from the docks; a ship was coming into port. Yara’s eyes widened. No, she wouldn’t…

She ran towards the quay, guided by the flickering torchlight. The jetties were almost completely full, the ships bobbing in the waves. The ship coming in was headed to the east side, where a couple of dock workers stood, guiding it in. She strode over, looking between the crates and barrels, when she finally saw Bethany.

The mage was waiting at the end of the docks, her eyes intent on the incoming ship. The breeze teased her hair, the moonlight highlighting her set jaw.

“Beth!” Yara jogged over, stopping by her side. Bethany took one look at her, and her eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t want you to come here,” the mage said, tightening her grip on her pack.

“Just what in the Maker’s name are you doing?!” Yara exclaimed. “You can’t be thinking of…”

“I’m going back to Kirkwall,” Bethany cut her off, confirming Yara’s fear.

“Beth, just wait a second! You can’t walk out like this!” Yara protested. “We’re Wardens, we have a duty…”

“To hell with duty!” Bethany snapped. Her hand quivered. “Mother’s…Mother’s dead, and I never…not even once…” Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “Amber’s all alone now. She needs me. And I won’t let you stop me from reaching her.”

Yara sighed. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped in front of Bethany. The mage frowned, making to push her aside, but Yara held firm. She grasped Bethany’s wrists.

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Yara said. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now, but running away to Kirkwall isn’t the answer.”

“What would you know?!” Bethany screeched, shaking her off. “You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone you love!”

Yara bit her lip. The mage’s words cut deeper than she knew.

“That’s not true,” she said softly, “but going back to Amber won’t bring your mother back. Alistair won’t stand for it, either. Do you think he’ll turn a blind eye and let you live peacefully with your sister?” She looked the mage straight in the eye. “Do you want to end up like Anders?”

“Shut _up_!” Bethany’s eyes flared. “This has nothing to do with you!” She raised her hand, a spark of fire about to form. Yara remained still, though her pulse raced.

“Of course it has everything to do with me,” Yara answered. “I know you’re hurting, and I want to help you.”

“Don’t!” The mage snarled, her arm trembling. Angry tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t…you can’t…”

“Please Beth, think about this for a second,” Yara went on. “I know you miss your sister. I know how important your family is to you, but Amber wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger for her sake. She wouldn’t want you to throw away all you’ve achieved.” She sighed. “And I don’t want you to leave, either. Aren’t we your family, too? Don’t we mean something?”

Her words seemed to finally reach Bethany. The flames vanished from her fingers, and her shoulders slumped. Her pack dropped to the ground, and she sank onto a crate, head bowed. Her shoulders trembled, and her tears fell freely.

“Why?” she whispered, holding her face. “Why did this have to happen?”

The last of her resolve melted, and she broke down sobbing. Yara was there in an instant. She wrapped her arm around the mage, and Bethany threw herself into her embrace. One of the dock workers shot them an odd look, but Yara ignored him. She stroked Bethany’s back, her own feelings stirred. Even without a memory to attach it too, she recognised this pain. The anger and sadness it provoked, the helplessness and guilt it left behind; each emotion warring with one another for dominance, tearing everything apart. And there was no remedy for this storm—it simply had to be waited out.

“I’m sorry, Beth,” Yara murmured, hating how pathetic her words sounded. “I’m so, so sorry.”

They remained together for a long while. Yara watched the waters, listening as Bethany’s breathing slowly matched the calm. Eventually the mage withdrew, wiping her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen with grief.

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” Bethany said, looking away.

“It’s okay,” Yara said.

“I’ve been such a fool.” Bethany turned to the newly docked ship, her gaze growing distant. “I never told you about Carver, did I?”

Yara shook her head. Bethany sighed. For a moment she was quiet, lost in her thoughts.

“He was my twin brother,” she said at last. “He…died, as we were fleeing Lothering during the Blight.” She winced, the memory still painful. “It…it hurt so much. I’d done nothing but shout at him the entire journey, and then an ogre took him away forever.” She closed her eyes, allowing more tears to escape. “I could’ve saved him, made a distraction so he could get away…but I…” She couldn’t continue, and bit back her sob. Yara held her shoulder, waiting for her to recover.

“I…I swore I’d not let the same thing happen again,” Bethany went on. “I promised I’d always tell my family I loved them, no matter what, and do whatever it took to protect them. And then, because of a poor choice of words, I became afraid.” She buried her head in her knees. “I was too ashamed to even write Mother, and now I’ll never get the chance. Not even…to say goodbye…”

Her voice cracked again, and Yara pulled the mage against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Yara said. “I know it’s hard to stop thinking about all the what ifs, but…” She clasped Bethany’s hand. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bethany nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I…was just so angry, I…”

“I said it was okay, didn’t I?” Yara said.

Bethany let out a breath.

“You’ve always been here for me, and I was ready to throw that away for nothing,” she said. “I won’t let that happen again.” She tensed her grip around Yara’s fingers. “I won’t betray the Wardens who saved my life, and I won’t betray you, either. I promise.”


	12. Chapter 12

The candle light inside the Highever Chantry was soothing, bathing the pews in a golden glow. The Grand Cleric stood before the statue of Andraste, reciting part of the Chant of Light that blessed and honoured the departed. Bethany stood alongside her, holding a candle of her own, her head bowed. Yara, Nathaniel and Ranalle sat in the front row, joined by several residents and the local priests. Yara had her eyes closed, listening to the Grand Cleric’s voice ring out. The harmonious chant teased her, stirring a long-forgotten memory, but despite her concentration, nothing came forth. She could _feel_ it brimming beneath the surface, yet the block on her mind pressed down stronger than ever.

Eventually she gave up, letting her shoulders slump. Where once she’d be flooded with intense images, now all she could recall were vague feelings. She was drifting further from her past; further from the truth. Holding her temple, Yara shook her head. This was not the time to struggle for her memories. She had far more important things to worry about.

Opening her eyes, she looked to Bethany. A priest stood beside her, and she gestured for the mage to come forward. Bethany walked to the statue of Andraste, clutching her candle in both hands. Offering her final prayer, she crouched and placed the candle at the statue’s feet. She clasped her hands together, then stood and stepped back.

The Grand Cleric raised her hands, and the congregation stood. Another priest began to hand out candles, and one by one everyone strode up to the statue. Yara went first. She raised the candle, whispering her respects, before placing it beside Bethany’s. She retreated to the mage’s side, and brushed her hand. Bethany let out a breath, and managed a nod. Though she’d yet to shed further tears, her eyes were filled with sorrow. Nathaniel added his candle next, then came to join them.

“I pray your mother finds peace at the Maker’s side,” he said, grasping Bethany’s shoulder.

“And may the Creator watch over her soul,” Ranalle offered, speaking quietly in case the priests overhead. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, all of you,” Bethany murmured. “You didn’t need to do this for me.”

“We consider you family as well,” Nathaniel said. “We’ve all left someone behind, and we know how hard it is when they’re no longer with us. It might not be much, but I hope this eases things a little.”

“It’s more than I could’ve asked for,” Bethany answered. She looked over the Chantry hall. “Thank you for arranging this.”

“It was no trouble,” Nathaniel said. “Though being friends with Teyrn Cousland helps.”

Yara raised a brow. “You’re friends with the Teyrn?”

“Of course,” Nathaniel replied. “The Howes and the Couslands have had a long and colourful history together. And Fergus is a good man.” For a moment his expression darkened. “A damn sight more honourable than my late father, anyway.” He turned to Bethany. “That aside, you’re welcome to remain in Highever if you don’t feel up to joining us, Beth. Alistair will understand.”

Bethany shook her head. “It’s kind of you to offer, Nathaniel, but there’s no need.” She stood tall. “I’ve delayed enough already, and I shouldn’t stay here. It’ll just make me miserable.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“If that’s what you wish, then we can still use the rest of the day,” he said. “We can leave in the next hour or so.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be waiting by the north gate.”

He left the Chantry. Ranalle soon followed, and once the Grand Cleric finished, so did the rest of the gathering. Even though they were complete strangers, they still offered Bethany kind words, and the mage acknowledged them gratefully. Finally only Yara and Bethany remained, watching the flickering candles. As the priests began to tidy up, Bethany sighed.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” she admitted, gazing at the statue of Andraste. “Part of me still thinks Amber’s playing a cruel joke, or that the letter was meant for someone else…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It was just the same with Carver.” Tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them back. “We’re never as strong as we think, are we?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Yara said. “I mean, who can you cry for if you can’t even cry for your own mother?”

“I know, but…” Bethany brushed her hair back, and closed her eyes. She was quiet for a moment, before she let out a breath. “It’s no use wishing on what could have been. All I can do is move forward, like you said.” She turned to Yara and grasped her hand. “This would’ve been so much harder without you, Yara. Thank you.”

Yara smiled, and squeezed Bethany’s fingers. The mage leaned closer, so that her head rested on Yara’s shoulder. Her warmth sent a pleasant tingle down Yara’s back, the sensation oddly familiar. This time, however, Yara didn’t try to wrestle for the memory. Instead she placed her hand on the mage’s hip, supportive. Bethany deserved such peace where she could offer it.

They stayed together in a comfortable silence, until the Grand Cleric cleared her throat harshly. Under her stern glare, Yara’s cheeks flushed, and she let go of the mage. Hurriedly she walked out of the hallway, glad to be returned to the cool sea breeze. Bethany stepped out as well, rubbing her hand absently.

“We…um, we shouldn’t keep Nathaniel waiting,” Yara said, taking great interest in the brickwork of the Chantry building. Why in the Maker’s name was she suddenly so flustered?

“Sure.” Bethany took the lead, unable to stop a smile creeping over her lips. Yara trailed behind, her arms folded, and wishing her heart would stop pounding already. Whether it was from a stirred memory or something else, she couldn’t tell. But why had this emerged now? She and Bethany had always been close; there was no reason for this awkwardness between them.

The wind ruffled her hair, and Yara brushed the loose strands aside. She was almost starting to miss the blackouts. At least with those she’d _seen_ —however briefly—why she was left with such confused feelings. Now she was burdened with surges of fear, affection, hurt, and longing, and it was becoming impossible to tell which belonged to the past and which belonged to the present.

_Just get a grip._

Sighing, Yara glanced up, surveying the area. Anything to distract her racing thoughts. Her eyes fell to Castle Cousland, which towered above the town. Yara found herself staring, chewing her lip. It was slightly smaller than Vigil’s Keep, but no less as impressive. Like Highever itself, it had suffered heavy damage during the Blight, but the Teyrn had worked hard to restore it. Now they were closer, Yara could appreciate the twin turrets and its grey-white stones. A few soldiers patrolled past, and they saluted her. Since the Hero of Ferelden had been the Teyrn’s younger sister, the Grey Wardens were highly regarded, so it was no surprise the troops would show their respect.

Even so, Yara’s brow furrowed. Again the familiarity was there, on the tip of her tongue, only to disappear once more. Was it simply the acknowledgement of rank, or something else? Maker, this was maddening!

“Yara, I’ve seen one-legged tortoises walk faster than you,” Bethany called; she’d gained a fair distance and was already by the north gate. “Hurry up!”

Yara broke her gaze from the castle and stepped up her pace.

* * *

 

It was raining heavily by the time Yara and Nathaniel approached the coastal caves. Daylight barely penetrated through the clouds, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The seas were choppy, the tide drawing closer, and Yara was attacked with spray as they inched up the narrow path. Ranalle and Bethany remained at camp, guarding it from potential threats. Already they’d encountered a few stray darkspawn, so Nathaniel had opted for a quick patrol before they settled in for the evening.

Yara coughed, spitting out the salty water as they entered a small cave. It was almost pitch-black inside, but the darkness was dispelled when Nathaniel brought out his lantern. Still, it did nothing to remove the stench, and Yara had to swallow the bile in her throat.

“Look,” Nathaniel commented, his lantern exposing darkspawn corpses between the rocks. “There must be a tunnel to the Deep Roads around here.”

“It’s incredible how far the Deep Roads span,” Yara murmured, wiping raindrops from her nose. “And so close to the surface, too.”

“Well, it keeps us in a job,” Nathaniel answered. “Let’s see if we can find any dwarven ruins and then we’ll call it a night.”

He led the way, the shadows dancing off the rocky walls. Yara kept her dagger close, watchful for movement. The cavern extended deeper than first appeared, and the ground turned uneven and slippery. Jagged stone jutted from all sides, so they kept a slow pace, checking each corner and crevice. So far, they’d uncovered nothing but seaweed and sand. Yara licked her lips, gazing back to the entrance.

“We shouldn’t take too long,” she warned. “That tide is coming in fast and we’ll be stranded.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Nathaniel insisted. “I know there’s something here, I can feel it.”

“Well, I don’t sense any darkspawn nearby, so what…”

Yara was cut off as a horrific howl bawled through the cave. The rocks trembled, and she dropped to her knees. Nathaniel grunted, staggering into a pillar of stone. The shriek came again, louder, and a pair of blood-red eyes glowed from the depths. Next came a wave of hot, fetid breath, and Yara ducked, narrowly missing the huge jaws that would’ve clamped over her. Scales glistened in the feeble light of the lantern, and she swore.

“Yara!” Nathaniel cried. “Get back, it’s a drake!”

Yara heard his bow creak. The drake’s scream told her he’d hit his mark, and it turned to face him. She rolled aside, freeing her sword from its sheath, and ran to flank the creature. With so little light and her night vision ruined, she had to rely on her hearing instead. The drake rumbled on her left, taking up most of the remaining space. It lumbered forward, the rocks crackling beneath its heavy body.

Yara took her chance, bolting towards the drake’s rear leg. Her sword sank deep, and the beast thrashed. Its tail caught Yara’s chest, and she slammed into the wall. Spots danced across her vision, and she groaned. Her stupor was short-lived, however, as Nathaniel cried out. Tensing her grip on her blades, she rose to her feet again and charged. A burst of air told her the drake had moved, its underbelly exposed. Instinct guided her, and at the last second she dropped into a crouch, her sword slicing through the brittle scales. Blood poured over her gauntlets, but she didn’t stop, twisting her dagger between the drake’s ribs.

The drake howled, clawing at her, but its cries died into gurgles. Nathaniel was at its neck, his hands clasped over his final arrow as he drove it deep into its throat. The light fading from the drake’s eyes, the creature swiped one last time, shattering the rock pillar.

“Nathaniel!” Yara abandoned her weapons and ran for the archer. She shoved him back, but lost her footing and skidded backwards. The cavern roof groaned, spilling dust, and Yara scrambled to get clear. Finally the rocks could bear the strain no more, and they collapsed. Yara covered her ears, the roar of falling stone deafening.

When the mess settled, she was left in total darkness.

“Yara? Yara!” Nathaniel’s muffled voice echoed from the other side of the rubble. “Are you hurt? Answer me!”

“I’m okay!” Yara called back. “What about you?”

“Still in one piece,” Nathaniel answered. “Maker, I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you!” There was a brief pause. “Wait here. I’ll get the others to help dig through.”

“The tide will beat you to it,” Yara argued.

“I can’t just leave you here!” Nathaniel exclaimed. “Sit tight until I get back!”

Soon Yara was left in silence, and she swallowed. With nothing but blackness around her, she shivered, curling her arms around her knees. Even after all these years, the shadows still left her unsettled, and she took a shaky breath. Her weapons were out of reach, too, and that made her heart race even faster. She was defenceless here.

Before panic would take over, she started to hum to herself. A tune Eliza had taught her, one that had soothed her when she’d been bedbound and unable to form words with her lips. The song had been the first utterance she’d managed, and so it remained close to her heart.

Gradually, her pulse calmed, and her eyes began to adjust. It was not quite as black as she’d thought; a tiny sliver of blue light came from the back of the cave. She stared at it for a while, debating whether to take a closer look. The ground was treacherous here, and she’d do herself no favours if she injured herself further. Yet Maker knew how long Nathaniel would be, and if she sat in the still darkness for much longer she’d lose her mind.

Decision made, Yara crawled towards the light. It seemed to be coming from the stone itself, as there were no gaps for anything to filter through from the outside. The sharp rocks pricked her gauntlets, and she was grateful for the tough leather shielding her hands. Her knees were not nearly so protected, however, and she winced as they scraped across the ground.

As she neared the glow, the taste of raw mana burned her throat. Along with it came the damp scent of seaweed, and she coughed. Her fingers brushed the slimy vines, and she tore them from the rocks. Now the true source of the light was revealed; a thick lyrium vein that sprawled the cavern wall. She was definitely close to the Deep Roads.

Yara turned away, peering further into the cavern. Sure enough, she began to pick out patches of paler stone. She followed them, running her hand along the scarred rocks, and eventually came to a broken door. She whistled, gazing at the giant hinge that once held the doorway closed. Perhaps Nathaniel hadn’t been imagining things.

An amused chuckle caught her ear, and she spun around.

“Ah, there you are.”

The hairs on the back of Yara’s neck stood on end. That voice…that _accent_ …

“What, no greeting for me?” the voice continued. Yara looked to the Deep Roads entrance, and then his silhouette appeared.

The Antivan Crow.

This time he didn’t retreat to the darkness. Instead he came forward, the glowing lyrium revealing his olive skin. His left cheek was marked with tattoos, and he also sported blonde hair. His ears revealed his Dalish heritage, and he flashed a smile.

“You again!” Yara’s eyes widened. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Aw, I’m so glad you remember me,” the Antivan smirked. “Tell me, how goes your quest to regain your memories?”

“I think it’s my turn to ask questions,” Yara said. “You’re an Antivan Crow, aren’t you? So what in the Maker’s name are you doing in the Deep Roads, all alone?”

The man blinked, caught off guard by her directness. Then he burst out laughing.

“And with such information, you _still_ don’t know who I am?” He shook his head. “I expected more from you, old friend. Surely even you are not…” He stopped himself, suddenly looking straight at Yara. Yara froze. There was something else beyond those brown eyes; a power no human or elf should have possessed. “Oh.”

“Try talking straight for a change!” Yara braced her fists. She was not going to play his games again.

The man sighed.

“Very well, perhaps you deserve this much,” he said. “For it’s not for me, or even yourself that you must reclaim your past. And I was not aware someone else had interfered. My master won’t like this at all.”

“What the hell did I just say?!” Yara stormed forward, but an unseen forced pushed her back. The elf hadn’t moved. He sighed, surveying her like a disappointed parent.

“If you give me a moment, then I can explain,” he said. “There is more to your missing memories than simply a response to your trauma. I had not seen it before, but a spell burns brightly in your mind, fogging your thoughts.”

Yara blinked. “A…what?”

“It was nigh invisible when last we met,” the man went on, “but it has grown stronger, much stronger. It actively stops you remembering, breaking the strands of connection you might have formed with that which you lost. I believe this is why your visions have come to a halt recently. Am I right?”

Yara was too dumbstruck to respond. She raised her hand to her forehead, still not quiet believing her ears. And yet, as she thought about the last few years, it slowly started to make sense. Her dreams had waned, her visions faded, and she could never piece the fragments she could recollect. The voices and faces always slipped from her mind, and now she finally had a reason why.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Was this a part of your master’s plan, as well?” she asked coldly.

“Hmph, were that the case, I wouldn’t have bothered to speak of it,” the man said. “Alas, it was not his doing, nor mine. But he will not let me speak the name of the one who did this to you. I can only show you her face.”

“Then show me already!” Yara blurted. “I won’t live in darkness forever!”

“And so the truth in your heart finally emerges,” the man answered, smiling again. “If that is your wish, then so be it.”

Yara squared her shoulders, as the elf stepped forward. He placed his thumb in the centre of Yara’s forehead. Yara closed her eyes, her body tense, sensing the immeasurable power behind the Antivan’s hand. How such an assassin had come to acquire it was another mystery, but she couldn’t think on it for long. An icy sensation ran through her, and she winced. It hurt. Something pressed hard against her chest, and her breathing quickened. The coldness deepened, and she cried out. Her vision blurred, and she instinctively reached for the Antivan’s hands, trying to push him away.

Then _she_ appeared—only for a moment—but long enough for Yara to take in every detail. A young woman with raven hair and amber eyes, staring at her with deep sadness. Her lips parted, and she spoke.

_“I do this out of kindness, to repay the trust you showed me,” she said, her hand covering my face. I couldn’t move to stop her. “May your last hours be peaceful, and without burden. You need not take your pain with you into the Fade.” A tear escaped her. “I will miss you, El…”_

The rest of her words were drowned, as a piercing ache cut into Yara’s head. She screamed.

_No, stop!_

“Yara!”

Bethany’s voice shattered through the pain, and Yara’s eyes snapped open. She fell to her knees, suddenly alone. The Antivan elf had vanished.

“Yara, are you alright?” Bethany rushed to Yara’s side, and put her arm around her. Yara blinked, when the throbbing started behind her eyes. She grasped her face, grimacing.

“I’m…alright,” she said softly. “Just a headache.”

“Must be the lyrium,” Bethany said. Her brows narrowed. “Nathaniel told you to stay put!” She conjured an orb of light, then helped Yara to her feet. Leaning against the mage, Yara followed her towards the rubble. A huge hole had been blasted through the stones, and cold air from the outside wafted through. Yara could even see the singe marks on the rock, and the faint scent of burning lingered. She promised she’d never tease Bethany about her flame staff collection again.

The tide had edged closer, but they were able to wade through the waist-deep water. The rain was still coming down strong, and Yara raised her hood. Finally they emerged back into the open, where Nathaniel was waiting.

“Thank the Maker!” he breathed, jogging to their side. “Are you injured?”

“Nothing a good sleep won’t fix,” Yara said, forcing herself to ignore the ache in her head. Was this the price the Antivan Crow had warned her about? No; he’d done as he’d promised, and she could still sense the heaviness over her thoughts. But for once, a single vision stood out to her, and she would never let it go again.

At last, she had the key.

* * *

 

It was with a grateful sigh that Yara gazed upon the walls of Highever once more. The dusk sun was behind them, still warm on their backs. They’d spent almost two weeks in the wilderness, chasing darkspawn, and finally their mission was complete. And Yara had never been more impatient to return to Amranthine. At long last she’d seen the visage of her saviour, the apostate who’d left her at Viren’s, and also discovered the deeper truth. The mage had blocked her memories on purpose, perhaps out of kindness, but Yara was determined to find her and set things right. After so much wasted effort, the path she’d sought for so long had opened, and she was not going to waste her chance. Not this time.

“You seem eager,” Bethany commented, walking alongside her. “Looking forward to the ride home?”

“You could say that,” Yara said. She had yet to tell the mage about her encounter, and was still in two minds about whether she should mention it at all. For if she went through with her desire, it would mean abandoning the Wardens; something she’d reprimanded Bethany about only recently. And, if she was truly honest, part of her didn’t want to leave, either. It was something she would have to consider carefully once they returned to Vigil’s Keep.

They approached the north gate, greeted warmly by the soldiers. As the group stepped inside, however, they were quickly accosted by a woman in noble finery. She went straight to Nathaniel and clasped his hand.

“By the Maker, it is you!” she declared. “It’s so good to see you, brother!”

“Delilah!” Nathaniel embraced her, his face brightening. Bethany glanced away, her expression subdued. “I didn’t realise you were in town.”

“We were only passing through, but when Fergus told me you were here, I had to wait for you,” Delilah said.

Nathaniel laughed. “Well, that makes a change,” he joked. Delilah frowned, and he raised his hands in apology. Ranalle cleared her throat. “Oh, where are my manners.” He put his arm around his sister. “These are my friends, Ranalle, Bethany and Yara. This is my sister, Delilah.”

“A pleasure,” Yara said.

“Likewise,” Bethany said, forcing a smile. Ranalle simply bowed her head.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Delilah said. She grasped Nathaniel’s hand again. “Please don’t tell me you have to rush back. At least stay and have dinner with us tonight?”

Nathaniel chewed his lip.

“I suppose we can spare another day,” he said, looking to the others. Yara frowned for a moment, but quickly masked her annoyance. It would be impolite to decline the invitation. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could set off on her search immediately.

“I have no problem,” she said. Bethany and Ranalle also voiced their agreement, and Delilah smiled.

“Excellent,” she said. “I’ll inform Fergus we’ll be having company. You can meet me at the Cousland estate in an hour.”

She hurried off. Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck, and let out a chuckle.

“Thank you for humouring me,” he said. “She worries about me a lot. This will placate her for a little while.”

“I would not turn down a free meal, either,” Ranalle answered. “Still, perhaps we should make ourselves a little more presentable first.”

They trudged off to the inn, and went their separate ways. There wasn’t time to indulge, so Yara opted for a quick wash and change of uniform. It would’ve been nice to wear something else, but they’d only brought the bare minimum along. Soon they regrouped, and made their way towards Castle Cousland.

As promised, Delilah was waiting for them, along with a young boy. His eyes lit up when he spotted Nathaniel, and he raced towards him.

“Uncle!” He threw his arms around the archer, and Nathaniel laughed.

“Well, hello to you as well, Gareth,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’ve grown so much!”

Delilah, however, had her gaze fixed upon the ladies. Yara squirmed, feeling like she was an art piece on display.

“Maker’s breath, do you not have anything less…military?” she asked, shaking her head. “You’re not on duty, you should relax!” She took Yara’s hand. “Come with me. I’ll find something that’ll suit you much better.”

Yara gave a pained expression to Bethany, who merely followed, giggling. Ranalle insisted she was comfortable as she was, so it was just the two of them who were led inside. The main hall was carpeted with deep maroon rugs, the walls filled with paintings of the surrounding coast. Delilah took them through, out into the courtyard and then into the guest rooms. Yara felt a twinge, as if she’d crossed similar halls before.

Eventually Delilah came to the end of the corridors, and she pushed open the door to her own quarters. It was a large bedroom, complete with four-poster bed and a small couch before the hearth. A shield bearing the Cousland coat of arms hung above the latter, a pair of swords crossed behind it.

“Please, sit,” Delilah said. “I’ll fetch my servant and she’ll find some clothes.”

Nodding, Yara took a seat in front of the hearth. Her eyes fell to the crackling flames, and she stared, mesmerized. A tightness settled in her chest, and she tried to swallow it away. Then something prickled behind her temple, and she pressed her hand against her head. What was…

Suddenly the crackle turned into a roar, and her breath caught. The gentle glow of firelight turned into a raging inferno, and she couldn’t see. Smoke filled her lungs, and searing heat assaulted her. The blaze strengthened, spreading fast, and Yara’s eyes widened, her heart trembling.

_Embers and ash burn my throat, and my breath is snatched away as I run through familiar halls. Now they are unrecognisable, buried in rubble and fire. My vision is blurred with tears, but even they cannot mask the destruction that tears at my soul. The corridors where I learnt to walk have crumbled, and flames eat at the heart of my family’s seat of power. This cannot be happening, my mind screams, and yet my eyes cannot lie._

_My home is burning._

_A woman’s shout sends my pulse skywards, and I urge my legs to move faster. A soldier bawls, an arrow skims my shoulder, but I leap through the last of the debris and I see her. Her face, usually filled with assurance and strength, is now fragile and broken; something I thought I would never see. She beckons, and I follow her through the last passage into the kitchens. Our last hope of escape as the keep falls apart around us. Please, let him be with us as well…_

_My prayer is heeded, but not in the way I wished. He lies there on the stained tiles, his body bathed in blood, unable to rise from his knees and gasping in pain. My voice cracks and I run to him, feeling as if I am three years old and wanting comfort from monsters. But this is no dark dream. This is a horrible reality from which I will never wake._

_“Pup...” His affection shines through his pain, and he manages a weak embrace. My whole body trembles, and I cling to him fiercely. I want him to make everything right again._

_She also kneels beside us, and I hold both tightly. I don’t want to leave them, to face the nightmare outside. The moment is interrupted, however, as another man steps inside. He is dressed in heavy grey armour, a pair of griffon’s wings on his shoulder. He is no enemy; only a victim, as we are. He gazes upon us in pity, and though he is deeply saddened, still he can only issue an ultimatum. He promises my safety, if I offer him myself in exchange. I do nothing but except, begging him to take them with me as well._

_Both refuse. She will not abandon the man she pledged her life to, and nor will he let his wounds endanger my chances of escape. Together they make my saviour promise to protect me at all costs. He agrees, and his hand encircles my wrist._

_I fight him off. I scream that they must come with me too, that I cannot abandon them. Yet they insist, clasping my free hand and giving me their final blessings. I am to go and make my mark on the world, and keep their memory burning. I can barely speak, the horror too much to bear. The door thunders, and my defender pulls me harder. There is no more time. I have to leave._

_Mother, Father, I love you, and I’m so, so sorry._

* * *

 

“Yara? Yara!”

Yara’s eyes snapped open. Her surroundings slowly came into focus; a vaulted ceiling, a crystal chandelier casting light from above. Delilah and Bethany were standing over her, their faces creased with alarm. Yara couldn’t speak, still lost in the memory, still fighting to break free. Her heart was racing, her body shaking, and cold sweat pooled down her back.

“Yara, it’s okay!” Bethany knelt down, clasping her hand. “Please, just take a breath! It’s alright, I promise. I’m here…”

Her soothing tone slipped through the screams and fire, and the voices fell away. Yara felt her muscles relax, her breaths coming in gasps. She lay on her back for a long moment, still disorientated, still thrown by the violent reaction. Her eyes closed, and she focused on her breathing. Every thought was a whirlwind; intertwined and interlaced.

“Is she alright?” Delilah also crouched, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m…fine…” Yara puffed. Taking Bethany’s hand, she sat up, rubbing her head. Yet even with the vision dispersed, the terror lingered. She couldn’t even look at the hearth.

“You don’t look fine at all,” Bethany said, her eyes narrowed. “Please excuse us, Delilah, but we won’t be able to join you tonight.”

“Maker, forgive me,” Delilah said, holding her cheeks. “You should have told me you weren’t well. Shall I fetch a healer?”

“No,” Yara croaked. “I just need…some rest.”

With Bethany’s help, she returned to her feet. Voicing her apologies, Yara let Bethany lead her into the courtyard. They sat near the well. Yara closed her eyes, still jarred from the experience. Her arms shook.

“You’ve not had a blackout like that for a long time,” Bethany said, softly stroking her back. “What happened?”

“I…remembered something terrible,” Yara whispered. The shock was starting to wear off, and her eyes filled with tears. She buried her head in her hands, and Bethany held her against her shoulder. Yara wept in her arms, overwhelmed as the crushing grief swept over her. Once again she’d lost the images, but the feelings were more than real, tearing wounds so deep she had never realised they were there.

This price was too high.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six year timeskip ahoy! Yes I know these are annoying but that’s the DA timeline for you.
> 
> Also a lot (and I mean A TONNE) of non-canon here, just to warn you.

 

A breeze teased at Yara’s hair, and she yawned. She was sitting in the bay window in the rookery, watching the sunrise. The sky was a beautiful mix of blue, pink and red; a sight she’d come to enjoy over the past few years. Yet it was only a temporary distraction, and no amount of natural beauty could banish her deeper pain. So often sleep was beyond her, leading to horrific nightmares she _still_ couldn’t recall when she woke. So rather than languish in bed, she’d come to the highest point of the keep to welcome in the new day.

But her insomnia was wearing her down, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Whatever sorcery the Antivan elf had performed had left her drained and exhausted, and with nothing to show for it. Yes, her dreams had returned, vivid as ever, but when she could never match vision with feeling, it was no better than torture. To jolt out of sleep screaming, and not remember why; to suffocate with guilt as Bethany comforted her, when she couldn’t explain her utter terror…

Yara’s eyes closed, and she rested her head on her knees. In fact, her only respite had come from special sleeping potions she’d commissioned from Viren, so she wouldn’t go insane. Still, she hated relying on them, especially when it was her mistake that had led to such a mess.

Nonetheless, no potion could douse the image that burned deep in her consciousness. The raven-haired apostate who’d cast her into this fugue; the cause of all her strife, and yet also her only hope of a cure. Tracking her down, however, had proven impossible. Yara had scouts out as far as she dared, had volunteered for every mission outside of Amaranthine, yet there’d been no sign of the woman in six years. Nor had she encountered the Antivan Crow again, despite several more visits to the Deep Roads. Her leads were lost, and she was just as helpless as when she’d first awoken in Viren’s home all those years ago.

Letting out a breath, Yara reached for her pendant. The vial was warm against her palm. Even with the odds stacked against her, she wasn’t going to give up. She couldn’t live through this forever; _would_ not live through this forever. Perhaps she should’ve thought better about opening a lock best kept shut, but she would not let the past taint her future.

Even if it would come at the cost of all she’d fought to reclaim.

Heavy steps caught her ear, and she glanced to the spiral staircase. A sandy-haired head appeared, revealed a half-asleep Alistair. He yawned, holding a sealed parchment. Absently he reached for one of the cages, but then he finally realised he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, good morning Yara,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Little early for you, isn’t it?”

“Just wanted to enjoy the view,” Yara said.

Alistair nodded. He plucked a crow from the cage, and it cawed. Tying his parchment to the bird’s leg, he strode to the window and let it fly. He sat beside Yara, and they watched it depart. It soared through the clouds, then disappeared. Alistair sighed.

“You know, you seem quite troubled these days,” he said suddenly. “Not tiring of our company, I hope?”

There was a slight edge to his voice, and Yara inwardly winced. He’d been keeping a closer eye on her than she realised.

“Of course not,” she said, meaning it. “I just…” Briefly she battled with herself, before she made her choice. She’d kept enough from him over the years; it was no wonder he’d grown wary. “I had a life before this, one I don’t remember. It still haunts my dreams, and I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been. Perhaps more than I should.”

Alistair blinked, surprised by her frankness. An awkward silence descended, and he cleared his throat.

“Well, can’t say I was expecting that,” he admitted, resting his hands on the window seat. “I was more worried the Taint was getting the better of you, what with your eagerness to visit the Deep Roads so often.”

Yara looked away. “Sorry.”

“You hardly owe me an apology,” Alistair went on. “But you can talk to me, okay? I might be your commanding officer, but I’m your friend, too. At least, I hope so.”

“I know,” Yara sighed. “You’ve done for me a lot already, and I appreciate it.”

“Heh, I could say the same for you.” Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. He gazed towards the horizon, smiling. “It’s funny where fate takes you, you know? Becoming Commander of the Grey, inheriting this Keep and restoring the Ferelden Wardens…it’s the last place I thought I’d be.”

“How come?” Yara asked.

“Well, believe it or not, I was set up to be Ferelden’s next king.”

“Really?” Yara found herself chuckling. “You don’t seem the royal type.”

“So I thought as well,” Alistair said. “Not that my uncle cared. So at the Landsmeet before the battle against the Archdemon, it was decided. I was going to marry Queen Anora, and restore my father’s bloodline.” His smile faltered. “But then the Hero died, and…” He shook his head. “That left me as the last remaining Ferelden Grey Warden. I couldn’t stand to lose everything to the Orlesians. So I abdicated in favour of Anora, and here I am. And Ferelden hasn’t fallen apart, so I consider it a wise move.”

“That must’ve been a tough decision,” Yara said.

“Actually, it was the easiest choice I’d ever made,” Alistair said. “But it was because I had friends who supported me.” He patted Yara’s shoulder. “Remember that you do, too. You don’t need to handle everything alone.”

His words struck close, and Yara stiffened, an echo of a memory flashing through her mind. Before it would take hold, however, a fluttering came from the window. Yelping, Yara ducked, as the crow shot over her head. It landed on the railing, cawing excitedly. Alistair frowned, grabbing it and removing the message on its leg.

“Shouldn’t have been that quick,” he muttered, unfolding the parchment. He’d not read more than a few words before his eyes widened. “Oh…”

That didn’t sound good.

“What is it?” Yara asked tentatively.

“It’s from Stroud,” Alistair said. “And it’s serious.”

* * *

 

“So, you might be wondering why I’ve summoned you all so urgently,” Alistair said. He’d called a meeting in the war room, and all of the senior Wardens had gathered. Bethany sat beside Yara, Nathaniel on her other side. The mage shot Yara an inquisitive glance, but Yara could only shrug in response. Alistair had not revealed anything about Stroud’s message, and she was as much in the dark as she was. Nathaniel had his arms folded, tapping his finger against his bicep.

Alistair sighed, resting against the table.

“This morning I received a message from Warden-Commander Stroud,” he began. “Westland Keep has fallen.”

A collective gasp ran through the Wardens. Yara’s face paled, and she exchanged a horrified look with Bethany. Ranalle’s jaw tightened.

“What? How?” she asked.

“I’m still awaiting the details, but there was some sort of coup, and he’s retreated to Ostwick with whoever else survived,” Alistair answered. “He’s asking for help for a counter-attack to reclaim the keep.”

“Is that wise?” Nathaniel commented. “Wardens are supposed to stay out of local politics.”

“Not if we’re attacked first,” Alistair argued. “And I highly doubt Stroud picked a side beforehand. Anyway, once I get more information, we’ll gather a small force and aid him. It’s the least I owe him for his help in restoring this place.” He bit his lip. “Everything seems to be kicking off in the Free Marches lately. I wonder what’s going on?”

Bethany tensed, and Yara felt her lean closer. The mage had kept in close touch with Hawke, who’d been keeping her informed about the unrest in Kirkwall. Bethany had worried for her sister greatly, and this seemed to confirm her worst fears.

“So, any volunteers,” Alistair continued, “or do I have to call out names?”

* * *

 

Ostwick was an unusual city, standing apart from Kirkwall as much as Kirkwall did from Amaranthine. It boasted double walls, high turrets, and its port was huge, stretching along the coast. The buildings were made from different coloured stones; a sign of repeated repair over the years. Yet despite its calm appearance, Yara sensed the unease within. The clouds were dark, threatening rain, and the atmosphere was charged. She watched their approach from the bow of their ship, the spray splashing her face.

If only the burden in her mind would wash away so easily…

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Yara turned around. Ranalle had emerged from the lower deck. The elf warrior stood beside her, gazing at the city walls.

“It has,” Yara said, folding her arms. “Though I never expected to be returning like this.”

“As did I,” Ranalle sighed. Despite her level tone, Yara felt the rage that burned in her eyes. It was hardly a surprise; Westland had been her home long before she’d moved to Ferelden, and she was still a Free Marcher at heart. “But I will take great pleasure in evicting our uninvited house-guests once we join Stroud.”

Yara nodded. The Warden-Commander had asked them to meet him in the city, where he was making plans to reclaim the keep. Alistair had sent as many Wardens as he could spare, and they made a group of fifteen strong. Coupled with whatever forces Stroud had gathered, it should prove more than enough to besiege the fortress.

Yet Yara couldn’t help but think what would happen after the threat was defeated. Once more she was deliberating whether to leave the Wardens, to seek out the raven-haired apostate herself. It was an idea she’d toyed with for years, although she’d never really had the chance to go through with it. For one, she was rarely left alone for long enough, but perhaps this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. In the chaos of the fighting she could slip away, and by the time anyone realised, she’d be long gone.

Of course, every time she talked herself into it, something always made her hesitate. Bethany would be heart-broken, and Nathaniel wouldn’t stand for it, either. And Yara knew she’d miss them deeply as well. They were everything to her, and it would be cruel to abandon them so coldly. Plus, with no clues to the apostate’s whereabouts, or even where she should start searching, it was but a fool’s dream.

But it was a dream she couldn’t let go.

At last, their ship docked. The crew dropped anchor and tethered the lines, and the main hatch opened again. Bethany and Nathaniel stepped out, followed by the remaining Wardens. The two stopped at Yara’s side, surveying the city walls.

“I see Ostwick’s still the same as ever,” Nathaniel said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Though it looks like they’ve repainted the Dragon Tower.”

“How are you so familiar with the city?” Bethany raised her brow.

“Oh, I was practically a Free Marcher when I was younger,” Nathaniel said. “I was squire to Ser Varley, who served in Starkhaven. We travelled all over.”

“A squire?” Bethany giggled.

“Is that how you’re so good at using a bow, then?” Yara teased.

“Hey, I can use a sword when I want to,” Nathaniel scoffed. “Wasn’t my fault Ser Varley never approved of my natural talent. I had one of his night watchmen train me in secret. It let me win an archery contest at the Grand Tourney, and that made him sit up a bit.” He chuckled. “I wonder how the old geezer’s doing these days.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance to see him, once this is cleared up,” Yara said.

“I doubt he’d want to see me again,” Nathaniel admitted. “Not after my father almost destroyed our family name.” His jaw tightened, but swiftly relaxed. It would be a tale for another time. “Anyway, let’s see what Stroud has to say.”

Ranalle led the way through the harbour, and Yara felt everyone’s eyes upon them. Some of the fishermen frowned, while others looked relieved. No doubt they wanted their city back to normal as soon as possible. The Wardens crossed the east gate, and entered the main square. Yara craned her neck, awed at the sprawling architecture. Ostwick was a city of canals and bridges, and it was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Barges sailed through the narrow channels, filled with passengers or cargo, and above them loomed the six towers. The one Nathaniel had identified as the Dragon Tower sported the symbol of the Circle. It caught Bethany’s eye, and her brows narrowed.

“This way,” Ranalle ordered. Yara fell into step behind her, and they headed towards another tower. A pair of lion statues flanked its entrance, and Yara spotted more Wardens gathered around it. Strangely, there were no mages present, and that made her stomach tighten. A dwarf Warden acknowledged Ranalle, then retreated inside. Moments later she returned, Stroud at her heels. His expression was grim, but it softened slightly as he approached them.

“It is good to see you, Ranalle,” he said, taking her hand. “And you as well, Yara, Bethany. Though I wish it was under brighter circumstances.”

“It cannot be helped,” Ranalle said. She surveyed the gathering, her lip pursed. “Is this truly all that remains?”

“Mostly,” Stroud answered. “Come, I will brief you on the details.”

He took them into the tower. Opening the doors to a large chamber, he let them file inside. Yara perched against the wall, Bethany and Nathaniel beside her.

“You must be tired, so I will make this quick,” Stroud announced. “Around a month ago, Westland Keep was approached by a group of mage refugees. They claimed to have been chased out of Kirkwall by Templars. Of course, I offered them amnesty, but only if they agreed to undergo the Joining. They accepted, and most of them joined our ranks. Alas, it was more than shelter they were after.” He began to pace the ground. “They were blood mages, and once inside our walls they summoned an army of demons. We fought hard, but then our own mages became possessed, and we were forced to withdraw.”

Bethany tensed, and Yara gasped. That explained why there were no mages amongst the remaining Wardens. Just what was going on in the Free Marches?

“I have no idea what plans they have, or why they targeted us, but I will not let them continue unopposed,” Stroud went on. “I have the allegiance of the Ostwick Templars, and now you as well. It will be more than enough to make an example of them. Once you are rested from your voyage, we will set off for Westland, and reclaim what is rightfully ours.” He gestured to the doors. “Speak to Lowan, he will show you to your temporary quarters. Dismissed.”

The Wardens rose and exited the chamber, muttering amongst themselves. However, when Yara and Bethany made to follow, Stroud held out his arm.

“A brief word, you two,” he said. “In private.”

Nathaniel raised a questioning brow, but left with the others. Once they were alone, Stroud continued.

“Forgive me for keeping you, but there is another matter I need your assistance with,” Stroud said. “Alistair told me how well you handled the Templars at the Vigil, thus I feel you would be best suited for this job.” He sighed. “I’ve contacted the Kirkwall Templars about their involvement in this, but Knight-Commander Meredith hasn’t responded. I understand mage relations there have been extremely poor, and other apostates may challenge us even if we depose these pretenders. Hence, if you could go to Kirkwall and find out what is going on, we can take steps to prevent this happening again.”

“Consider it done,” Bethany said, without hesitation. “The Knight-Commander’s let power go to her head. It’s time someone reminded her of her place.”

Yara swallowed, letting Stroud’s words sink in. The temptation to leave pulled strongly again, and she clenched her fist. It was as if the Maker had read her mind. By going to Kirkwall, she could leave Bethany with her sister, then catch a ship to Highever directly. Her tracks would be covered, and Nathaniel would be none the wiser, either. She had to take her chance.

“Yes, we’ll hold the Knight-Commander to account,” Yara said.

“I thought you would,” Stroud said, smiling. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

It was peaceful along the slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. Yara sat by the campfire, stoking the flames with a long stick. She gazed towards the moonlit horizon, chilled by the breeze. In the darkness she could just make out the outline of the Gallows, and she let out a breath. It was their second night in the open; their last rest before they’d reach their destination. Bethany and Nathaniel lay on their bed rolls, fast asleep. The archer had insisted on coming along, arguing that Bethany was vulnerable to the blood mages and would need back-up. Yara hadn’t been keen, as it would make her escape more difficult, but she’d opted to modify her plan instead.

She glanced to her pack, which remained propped against a rock. She’d volunteered to take first watch, and had been waiting for her companions to fall asleep. Then she was going to make a beeline for Kirkwall, and arrange for night passage to Highever. Her trail to the city would be obvious enough, but once Bethany and Nathaniel arrived, it would go cold. Then they’d be too pressed to complete their mission, and by the time they got around to looking for her, she’d be in the clear.

It sounded so straightforward, but finding the conviction to go through with it was something else. Yara must’ve stood and stretched a hundred times, her fingers reaching for her pack, only to withdraw when Bethany rolled over, or Nathaniel let out a snore. It wasn’t just fear of being caught that held her back, either. Could she really do it? Walk away from those who were closer to her than brother and sister?

Gritting her teeth, Yara dropped her stick and stood again. If she didn’t force herself through this, she’d never leave. She groped for her pack, hoisting it onto her shoulders, then strode away from the camp. Pangs rang through her chest, slowing her steps, but she pushed on down the path. She had to do this. She _had_ to.

The mountain path ran alongside a stream, then became a trail lined with trees. Yara raised her hood, careful not to stare at any light. If she wanted to get far enough ahead, she needed her night vision intact. She kept her dagger within easy reach, in case of unwanted company.

Moonlight filtered between the leaves of the canopy, guiding Yara towards the road that led to Kirkwall. Her heart pulsed, and her throat was dry. Eventually she came to a clearing, and she had to stop. Her thoughts raced, and she held her hands to her temples. Every reason to stay flew through her mind, and Yara closed her eyes.

What was she doing?

She stood in the clearing for a long while, her pack feeling heavier with each passing second. She was throwing away everything; her memories were not worth the life she was leaving behind! She’d be all alone again, with wavering uncertainty her only companion. She’d be hunted as a fugitive, a traitor, her years of loyal service disregarded in a single night. It wasn’t too late to reconsider. All she had to do was turn around, and forget she’d even thought about such a stupid idea.

But then another voice nagged. If she went back, she might never get another chance to leave. Never get a chance to find a cure, to discover her true identity and have the burden of mystery off her shoulders for good.

Maker, what should she do?!

A sudden rustle broke her thoughts. Yara snapped her head up. Something was watching her. She scanned the shadows, her hand on her dagger hilt. The creak of a bow caught her ear, and her eyes widened. Surely Nathaniel hadn’t caught up so quickly. Next came the soft nock of an arrow, and Yara froze. She was too late.

Sighing, Yara let go of her knife and held up her hands. A long silence followed, when the rustling came again, and a woman stepped into the open. She had fiery red hair, and wore light armour. She circled Yara, coming to face her, her aim never wavering. Yara rolled her eyes. Why hadn’t she just shot her already?

“Take whatever you want,” she muttered despondently.

At the sound of her voice, the woman stopped dead. She lowered her bow, studying Yara intently. Then her eyes widened.

“Maker above, please accept my apologies!” Her accent was Orlesian, and Yara felt her heart skip a beat. “I didn’t realise you were a Grey Warden.” She slung her bow over her shoulder and discarded her arrow. “I mean you no harm.”

Yara’s own confusion stirred. “I didn’t think that made a difference to a bandit.”

The woman blinked, and tilted her head. Then she let out a giggle.

“Oh, I am no bandit. Although I must admit I made the same mistake about you. After all, not many travel here at this hour.”

Yara nodded, though she was still unsettled by the woman’s gaze. She was glad for her hood, and made sure it was drawn close.

“So who are you?” Yara asked.

The woman drew herself to her full height.

“You may call me Sister Nightingale,” she said.

Yara raised a brow. She hadn’t been expecting _that_ as a response.

“Hmm, you’re a little far from the nearest Chantry,” she said, her wariness returned. “What’s a Sister of the Light doing in the wilderness?”

“I could ask the same of you, Warden,” Sister Nightingale shot back. “There are no Deep Roads here, either.”

Yara bristled at the mention of her title. Yet another reminder of what she was leaving behind.

“Wardens don’t always have to wander to the Deep Roads,” she answered.

“Nor do all Sisters have to remain in a Chantry,” Sister Nightingale replied.

“Then perhaps we should let each other be,” Yara offered.

“Perhaps,” Sister Nightingale said, “but I have an inkling as to your business, and would like to provide some counsel.”

“Oh?”

“I have heard of the troubles in the Westland Keep,” she went on. “I take it you were hoping to find reinforcements in Kirkwall to help you reclaim it?”

“Maybe,” Yara said, wondering how a lowly cleric was so well-informed. Given her bow and stealth skills, it didn’t take much to deduce this ‘Sister’ was more than she claimed.

“Then might I save you a wasted journey,” Sister Nightingale went on. “I have just left the city, and Kirkwall is in dire straits. You will find no allies there, I assure you.”

“So you claim,” Yara muttered. Part of her demanded to end this conversation, to pick up her feet and march to the city already, yet the woman’s words sparked her curiosity. She couldn’t let her comment slide. “What kind of dire straits?”

“The Templars have locked down the Gallows,” Sister Nightingale answered, “and the Knight-Commander has enforced curfew onto the citizens. Nothing can move freely without her word, and the mages are growing restless. I would not be surprised if blood spills very soon. There is no need to put yourself in danger. Turn back.”

Yara swallowed. She knew the situation at Kirkwall had deteriorated, but she had no idea it had become so volatile. And if the Knight-Commander’s influence had spread so far, Hawke would’ve certainly been caught up in the mess. Between the iron fist of the Templars and the bloodlust of the mages, there would be no escape. And if anything happened to Hawke, or even Bethany…

Yara’s shoulders relaxed, and the pangs in her chest disappeared. There would be no arguing with her heart this time. She knew what she had to do.

“Thanks for the advice, Sister,” she said, “but I can’t turn my back on my duty.”

Sister Nightingale gasped. For a long moment she stared, unspoken words on her lips, but then she looked away.

“Then I wish you luck.” Her tone had become guarded. “Maker watch over you.”

She walked into the grasses, and like a whisper of wind, she was gone. Yara remained in the clearing, getting hold of her thoughts. Then she spun on her heel and strode straight back to the camp. Bethany and Nathaniel remained deep in slumber, completely oblivious to the night’s events.

Yara dumped her pack and reclaimed her stick, rekindling the dying embers. The warm glow reminded her of the woman’s fiery hair, and she let out a long breath. If not for her warning, Yara would’ve put her friends in terrible danger, and she’d have never forgiven herself. Yet there was something else about Sister Nightingale that nagged at Yara, too. It couldn’t have been coincidence that their paths had crossed, and she didn’t buy the mistaken bandit story. Not when her uniform marked her out for miles. So, had she been following them? But why? What would a Chantry agent want with Grey Wardens?

Groaning, Yara dumped her hand on her chin, left with more questions than answers.

The Maker was having fun tonight.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve amended the end of DA2 a little, so I’m aware events don’t quite happen as I’ve written them.

_The streets of Denerim are darkened by storm clouds, the rain lashing down in an endless torrent. Thunder cries and lightning blazes above the alleys surrounding us. They are haunted by spilled blood and whispered conspiracy. It is so narrow, so suffocating, and my breath is snatched away. Torn flesh burns at my hand, but physical pain is nothing right now. My mind is filled with regret, and I am drowning in it._

_I have made a terrible mistake._

_But I am not alone. Even though she risks her life, she remains by my side, pressed in by the walls as I am. Her hair is like golden fire, so bright even the rains cannot extinguish it. Her grey-blue eyes are upon me; a gaze I cannot meet. I am too overcome with shame and humiliation. I went against my word, against her trust. I have no right to stand in her presence._

_She sees this, but denies me the retribution I deserve. Instead her voice is comforting, sorrowful. She tells me my pain mirrors her own, that she would bring the heavens themselves to ruin if it meant she could take away my burden. Her fingers are warm, tender, and they brush aside the droplets that soak my cheek. It is a touch that ignites my skin, and suddenly I cannot be without it._

_Then she nears yet more, were it even possible. Her breath warms my lips, and then we are as one. I cannot move, overcome. With fear or desire, I cannot decide. The moment is like a frozen eternity, and yet it ends before my heart can make a choice. She withdraws, her scent lingering, her taste unforgettable. Warmth tickles my ear, and my breath catches as she whispers her confession,_

_“I love you.”_

* * *

 

Tears escaped Yara’s eyes, and she raised her arm to cover her face. It had not been long since she’d retired to sleep, but a dream had disturbed her yet again. This one felt different, however. No panic or terror flooding through her; just a deep ache inside, an emptiness begging to be filled. As if she’d lost something important. She lay still, the salty moisture souring her lips, and listened to the crackle of the campfire. While it was a relief she hadn’t drowned in a nightmare, it did nothing to quench the longing of what vision had flashed across her mind. If only…

Suddenly a deafening roar tore across the horizon, shattering her senses. Nathaniel yelped, and Yara winced, holding her ears. Bethany cried out, jolted awake. All three looked skywards, as brilliant red and gold light erupted from Kirkwall. It was so bright it turned the night to day, and the ground trembled from the shockwave. Yara’s mouth went dry.

“Maker preserve us,” Nathaniel uttered. “What in Andraste’s name was that?!”

“Amber…” Bethany whispered. “Amber!” She threw off her blanket and grabbed her staff. “I have to get to her!”

“Beth, wait!” Yara snatched for the mage’s wrist, but Bethany was already off and running. Cursing, Yara picked up her blades and grabbed Nathaniel’s arm. “Come on!”

Abandoning their camp, the trio raced down the path, through the clearing and onto the main road. Kirkwall was being showered with burning debris, and Yara kept her gaze on the sky, her heart rumbling. What could have caused such a powerful explosion? And if they’d felt the blast from this far, she could only imagine what state the city was in. It seemed Sister Nightingale’s predication had come to pass.

Finally they reached the city gates. They were deformed and melted, and fire blazed at every corner. The buildings were plastered with soot, and many had crumbled to rubble. The worst damage was towards the higher end of town, where a huge hole marked where the Chantry once stood. The ways were filled with the cries of panicked citizens, who pushed through the mangled gates to escape. Yara coughed, covering her mouth and nose from the stinking smoke. Sulphur.

“ _Amber_!” Bethany screeched, tearing through the crowd and into the city. She twirled her staff, summoning a wind that banished the smoke. Her eyes scanned the mess, frantic. “Amber, where are you?!”

“Bethany?” a new voice called.

The mage turned, and her eyes lit up.

“Aveline!” She ran to the city guard captain, Yara and Nathaniel right behind her. Aveline’s armour was blackened, and there were scrapes on her breast plate, but otherwise she appeared unhurt.

“By the Maker, I never thought I’d see you again,” Aveline said, looking relieved. “What are you doing here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bethany answered. “What in the Maker’s name just happened?!”

“The Chantry was blown up,” Aveline said, her voice bitter. “Everyone inside, including the Grand Cleric, is dead. And the fallout is causing more damage.” She was interrupted as a piece of debris slammed into a building nearby. Ash erupted into a billowing plume, and Yara shielded her face with her arms. Once it settled, Aveline continued. “My men are trying to evacuate survivors, but the Templars are making a full assault onto the Gallows.”

“What?!” Bethany’s eyes widened in horror. “Where’s Amber? She’s not…no…”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Aveline answered. “You know how tough she is. We’ll find her together.”

“Right.” Bethany clenched her fist. She nodded to Yara and Nathaniel. “This way!”

They bolted for the narrows streets, Bethany in the lead. Even after so long away, she still knew her way around. Burning rubble continued to hail down, and embers prickled Yara’s face and neck. They almost hurt, if not for the adrenaline surging through her. All the while her mind buzzed, reminding her that had she carried out her original plan, she would’ve been caught in the blast. She swallowed. If she ever saw Sister Nightingale again, she would thank her a thousand times.

The paths began to narrow, becoming blocked with debris. Injured citizens began to emerge, many crying and pleading for help, and the guardsmen did their best to assist. Even so, Yara had to turn away, unnerved by the burned faces and bloody limbs. It was a complete blood-bath.

At last, as they rounded another corner, Yara spotted Hawke. She was standing in the shadow of a fallen building, along with a pair of elves and another familiar dwarven face; Varric. Her was face smeared with ash, and her armour was bloodied. Bodies of fallen Templars lay around them, unmoving.

“Amber!” Bethany sprinted towards her.

Hawke spun around at the sound of her voice. Her jaw dropped.

“Bethany?!” She’d barely spoken her name when Bethany threw her arms around her. Hawke returned the embrace just as fiercely. “Maker’s breath, I can’t believe…when did you get here?”

“I had to see you again.” Bethany eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry…”

“Hush,” Hawke soothed. “That’s not important right now.” She renewed their hug. “I’m just so happy to see you.” She released her sister, and her attention fell to Yara. “I see Beth’s kept you on your toes, Yara. Good to see you!”

“Likewise,” Yara said, smiling.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Varric chortled. “Long time no see, Sunshine, Grim!”

“I thought Amber said her name was Yara?” the female elf asked, her head tilted.

“You know these Grey Wardens?” the other elf added; a tall man with strange markings across his neck and chin.

“Long story, Fenris,” Hawke chuckled. “And Merrill, Grim is just Varric’s nickname for Yara.” She turned to Nathaniel, brow raised. “And you are?”

“Nathaniel,” the archer said. “Amber Hawke, I take it?”

“The one and only,” Hawke said, managing a mock bow. “I hope Bethany’s not told too many wild stories. I can assure you only half of them are true.”

“Pleasantries aside, can you tell us what happened?” Yara asked.

Hawke’s expression darkened, and all trace of humour dropped from her voice. “That _bastard_ Anders did this.”

Yara’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Bethany tensed.

“Are you serious?” the mage blurted.

“I don’t know if it was that spirit Justice goading him or whatever, but he planted explosives in the Chantry, and when Meredith and Orsino started kicking off, he detonated them,” Hawke spat. “Now the city’s gone to the dogs, and to top it all off, Meredith’s invoked the Right of Annulment. She’s going to attack the Gallows and slaughter the entire Kirkwall Circle for something they didn’t do.”

“Maker, this is horrible!” Bethany gasped. “Where is Anders?”

“Turned tail and ran like the coward he is,” Varric growled. “Moron. You don’t play with fire if you can’t handle being burned.”

“Which is why I have to take responsibility for _his_ mess,” Hawke went on. “He led me on all this time. I even helped him trick the Grand Cleric so he could infiltrate the Chantry!” She shook her head, regaining herself. “Anyway, you don’t need to be here. None of you do. I know Wardens are obliged to remain neutral, so…”

“No.” Bethany stood tall. “I’m going with you.”

Hawke blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I will not stand by and watch my own sister walk into the jaws of death,” Bethany stated. “Nor will I let innocent mages suffer for a crime they didn’t commit. Warden or not.”

Nathaniel frowned, and grasped Bethany’s wrist.

“Bethany, your sister’s right,” he said. “We _can’t_ interfere. Not with a conflict this polarised. And if we’re seen fighting the Templars, Stroud will lose his allegiance. You’d have the Grey Wardens banished from the Free Marches, like they were in Ferelden?”

Bethany clenched her fists.

“Then I’ll be a Grey Warden no more.” She faced Nathaniel, her face pained. “Tell Stroud I perished in the explosion.”

Nathaniel stared.

“But Beth…” Yara began.

“I won’t force either of you to come with me,” Bethany cut her off, her voice firm. “But I won’t let you stop me. Not this time.”

Yara sighed. It was ironic; only hours ago she’d been agonising over the same decision. This time, however, there would be no going back. Just as she’d chosen her path all those years ago on the Deep Roads expedition, so she’d have to choose a new path now.

And it wasn’t going to be any different.

“I won’t stop you, Beth,” Yara said at last. “I’ll go with you.”

“Ugh, Maker, not you as well!” Nathaniel growled. “Have you lost your senses, Yara?”

“If it was Delilah in Amber’s place, would _you_ hesitate?” Yara challenged.

“I…that’s not…” Nathaniel let his shoulders slump. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t. But maybe I can help another way.” He faced them both. “I’ll return to Stroud and inform him that both of you were caught in the explosion. That way he won’t send anyone after you, and you won’t be labelled deserters. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Then, this is…goodbye,” Yara said, her heart sinking. She’d hoped to avoid this, for this very reason. Bethany, too, looked crestfallen. After so many years travelling and fighting together, they were finally parting ways. But Yara knew this day had been coming for a while. At least now she could remain with Bethany, and have a chance to voice her farewells, too. Whatever the future held for her, she had to put her trust in the Maker.

“Yes.” Nathaniel suddenly pulled the two into a hug. Yara stiffened, not expecting the gesture, but swiftly returned it. Bethany did the same. “I’m going to miss you both. Maker protect you.”

“Maker protect you as well,” Yara said.

“Thank you,” Bethany added. “We won’t forget this.”

“Farewell, and good luck.” Nathaniel turned and headed back towards the city gates. As he disappeared into the burning ruins, Hawke cleared her throat.

“Well, now that’s sorted, how about we make a move?” she offered. “If we delay any longer, we’ll be defending nothing but a pile of corpses.”

“Amber!” Bethany scowled, while Hawke shrugged. Yara managed a wry smile. The rogue’s sense of humour hadn’t changed.

“Sadly, she has a point,” Varric added. “We’d better get to the docks before the rest of the Templars do.”

* * *

 

The Gallows were already overrun by the time Yara and the others arrived. Fenris and Aveline kicked down the boarding plank of their boat, and the group vaulted into the main courtyard. Dead Templars and mages alike lined the way, their blood still cooling on the stone tiles. Yara’s stomach churned. She was no stranger to death, but this was out of control, as dark as any of her nightmares. How had things fallen so far?

Hawke led them towards the entrance, stepping over the corpses. At the foot of the Gallows stood the First Enchanter. Wearily he surveyed the courtyard, allowing the remaining mages to retreat into the fortress.

“Orsino!” Hawke called out. The First Enchanter looked up, and his eyes filled with relief.

“Champion, you made it!” He descended the stairs, ushering them to get inside. “Quickly, before the next wave…”

“It is already too late, First Enchanter!”

A commanding voice rang through the courtyard, and Yara turned. The Knight-Commander had arrived, an entire platoon of Templars at her back. She stormed forward, her cerulean gaze like ice. Orsino met her stare, his jaw set.

“It is never too late,” he growled. “Look what you’ve turned the city into! You claim you’re protecting it, but it’s being ripped apart!” He shook his head. “Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith. Do not slaughter us for the mistake of a rogue apostate!”

“I cannot ignore the people’s cries for retribution!” Meredith shot back. “A mage murdered the Grand Cleric in the name of freedom, and so all mages must pay for that crime!” Her eyes fell to Hawke, then to Yara and Bethany. Her lip curled. “What is the meaning of this, Champion? Grey Wardens have no place interfering in affairs outside their own!”

“They’re with me of their own choice,” Hawke stated, stepping up. “Even they can see you’ve lost control. And we’re going to stop you.”

Meredith laughed. “You dare threaten me, Champion? You saw what happened just as I did, yet you still side with the guilty party!”

“I saw the actions of a single mage provoke unnecessary punishment,” Hawke snapped. “I side with the innocent, not a fool driven insane with her own ambition!”

“Silence!” Meredith drew her sword, and aimed it at Orsino. The blade gleamed crimson, bathed in a light of its own. Runes glowed along its length, and the magic within made Yara nauseous. Varric caught his breath, unable to break his gaze from it. Meredith noted his discomfort, and began to chuckle. “Ah, you recognise this, do you? Pure lyrium, mined from the very heart of the Deep Roads! Nothing on Thedas can match such power!”

“You forged the lyrium idol into a _sword_?!” Hawke spluttered. Her eyes were a mix of incredulity and rage.

“Yes, and that fool dwarf charged a fortune for it!” Meredith cackled. The blade crackled with energy, and she licked her lips. “But it will be worth every sovereign when it has dealt justice to the corrupt, as it was made to do!”

“It destroyed my brother’s mind!” Varric bellowed. “It’ll do the same to you, as well!”

“No wonder you’re two deathroots short of a black locust poison,” Hawke muttered.

“Bartrand was weak!” Meredith cried. “As I am not.” She turned her gaze back to Orsino. “I give you your final warning, First Enchanter.  Surrender and meet your end with dignity, or be struck down like the abominations you are!”

Orsino’s eyes flared. “If your only choice is death, then I will take mine fighting!”

He raised his staff, but Meredith was quicker. She plunged her sword into Orsino’s belly, and the First Enchanter groaned. His staff clattered to the ground, and he fell to his knees. Meredith withdrew her blade, indifferent. Orsino grasped at the wound, unable to stem the flow of blood. Hawke tensed, a hand on her dagger. Slowly, the First Enchanter looked up. His eyes took on the same crimson gleam as Meredith’s sword, and his lips curled into a twisted smirk.

“If you…would label us…all as blood mages…” He pressed his hands over his stomach, and magic began to gather around his palms. “Then…face…the true zenith…of my power!”

“Orsino, no!” Hawke yelled, but she was too slow. The First Enchanter finished his incantation, and everyone was thrown from the eruption of energy. Yara gasped, clawing at the ground before she’d be blown away. The air was hot and sticky, and she choked, fighting for breath, her hair flying and obscuring her vision. The corpses of the mages and Templars started to shake, drawn into the vortex of blood and power. Her grip was slipping, but Bethany and Varric snatched her arms, drawing her back. The Templars still standing drew their blades, fighting to resist the pull of the storm.

At last the magic dispersed, and a terrifying shriek echoed across the courtyard. Yara looked to where the First Enchanter had stood, then wished she hadn’t. A huge, bloated abomination now took up the entire front of the Gallows, its body made of pieces of corpses. There was no trace of Orsino left. It roared again and lumbered forward, striking the Templars in its path as if they were mere insects.

“Do you see? _I was right!_ ” Meredith howled. “Kill it!”

“Damned idiot!” Bethany swore, helping Yara to stand up. “What was he thinking?!”

“Imminent death does tend to dull the senses,” Hawke quipped, hurrying to their side. “Fenris, look out!”

The elf warrior grunted, bracing his sword against a swipe from the grotesque creature. The abomination lashed out again, and he was thrown into Merrill, interrupting her casting.

“I don’t think he sees us as allies anymore,” Yara said. “We have to take him down!”

She took up her sword and dagger, making for the creature’s flank. The beast rumbled, ripping through the pillars and using them as clubs. The Templars yelled, making a charge, only to be bludgeoned aside, Meredith included. Yara yelled, dodging the blows, and cut deep into the mass of flesh. Her dagger sank in until the hilt, soaking her left forearm with blood. It did nothing to slow the demon, who grabbed her and threw her into the Gallows’ steps, hard. Yara groaned, the breath knocked from her lungs. She struggled to get up, as the creature grasped its wounded side. Flesh and sinew bubbled around it, before a new limb sprang forth, oozing and foul.

Bethany and Merrill stood together, flinging fireballs and lightning at the beast. Meanwhile Hawke had regrouped with Varric, using a discarded bow to attack from afar. Fenris and Aveline joined the Templar ranks, making for another charge. The abomination roared, swords, bolts and arrows raining from all sides. It made to attack again, and that was when Yara spotted the patch of frail skin above the back of its neck.

She’d only get one chance.

Wiping her mouth, she sheathed her sword and switched her dagger to her right hand. Too pre-occupied with the frontal assault, the creature would never notice her approach. Teeth clenched, Yara broke into a run. At the bottom of the stairs she leapt, landing on the abomination’s back. It thrashed, using its extra limbs to grasp at her, but Yara was already at its neck. She slammed her dagger into the brittle tissue, and it came apart, pouring blackened blood. The demon screamed, and she let go, dropping back to the ground. The creature began to flounder, unable to remove the thorn in its neck.

That was enough for Hawke. Throwing her bow aside, she drew her knife and blazed towards the beast. Fenris nodded and dropped into a crouch, his hands cupped together. Hawke stepped onto his palms, and the elf grunted, helping to give her extra lift. Hawke soared, her eyes filled with blood lust, and landed on the creature’s face. She stabbed it in the eye, once, twice, three times, and it screeched like nothing Yara had ever heard. A final blow, and it collapsed, defeated. Yara’s dagger tumbled free, and she reclaimed it, wiping the blood off.

Hawke jumped off, landing beside Yara. She shook the blood from her fingers, smirking, but then Meredith approached.

“You…you see…” Her voice was wavering. “Even the First Enchanter fell to temptation!”

“Only because _you_ murdered him!” Yara shot back.

“I was doing my duty!” Meredith’s arm shot out, and she grabbed Yara by the neck. “Something even you _Wardens_ can’t abide by!” Her grip tensed, and Yara choked. “You took the Champion’s side, and in turn took the side of the sinful. When I am done with you, I will hunt down the rest of your pathetic Order, and ensure they understand even _they_ are not above the judgement of the righteous!”

“No!” A flash of fire burst forth, and Meredith was forced to release Yara. Yara fell, gasping, and Hawke caught her. Bethany’s eyes blazed, and Meredith glared at her. She took up her sword again, and poised it at the mage.

“You are all the same, inside the Circle or out of it!” Meredith hissed. “You are weak, you cannot stem your own recklessness! And for that reason our hand is forced, lest we watch you destroy yourselves. It is a kindness we even have the Right of Annulment, to protect you from horrors worse than death!” She tightened her grip around her blade. “And since such matters are clearly beyond your understanding, then you too can meet the same fate!”

She made to strike Bethany, but a Templar stepped into her path. Meredith hesitated.

“Knight-Commander, that’s enough!” His eyes were narrowed. “This is not what our Order stands for. Orsino tried to reason with you, and you did not even entertain rational discussion! Nor did you listen to the Champion, and now you seek to murder the Grey Wardens as well?” He shook his head. “I will not have you lead us into a meaningless killing spree!”

The Knight-Commander’s eyes went livid.

“You dare disobey me, Cullen?” She turned her sword onto him, but Cullen stood his ground. Yara blinked, dazzled by the blade’s gleam. It was growing stronger. “I will not tolerate insubordination in my ranks!”

“And I will not let you continue this madness!” Cullen answered. “I defended you when Thrask whispered rumours of insanity, but I cannot turn a blind eye to this.” He drew his own sword, and stepped in front of Bethany. “Step _down_ , Knight-Commander. You are hereby relieved of your duties.”

Meredith shot daggers; a gaze that could’ve melted steel.

“And so, even my own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic.” She rounded on the other Templars, and they backed away, for the first time revealing their fear. “You all have! Allowing the mages to manipulate your minds and turn you against me!” The runes on her sword came to life, and the bolts of energy travelled up her arm. “I don’t need any of you! I know what must be done, and I will not hesitate!”

She thrust her sword into the ground, and the runes flared, too blinding to look at.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and _do not falter_!”


	15. Chapter 15

Meredith’s chant echoed, and the tiles of the courtyard began to crack. A bolt of red lightning burst from Meredith’s sword, sundering the heavens. More stray bolts broke out, and several Templars screamed, struck down in an instant. The heat brought a sweat to Yara’s brow, and she retreated along with Hawke and Bethany. Aveline raised her shield, protecting them from further bolts.

Fearless, Meredith stepped into the blinding light, and raised her blade to the sky. The lightning consumed her, fuelling her rage. Roaring like a demon, she threw herself towards Bethany. Yara jumped in front of the mage, catching the lyrium sword against her own. But the magic was making her head swim, and bile rose in her throat.

Meredith snarled, breaking contact and kicking Yara in the shins. Yara yelped, and Hawke took over, making her own assault. Her daggers were like a whirlwind, but Meredith matched every blow, her reflexes beyond human. She caught Hawke’s arm, twisting it, and slammed her sword into the rogue’s back. Choking, Hawke collapsed to her front, her daggers slipping.

Fenris and Aveline bellowed, their swords held high. By some miracle Meredith was able to block them both, but that left a perfect opening for Varric and Merrill. The Knight-Commander growled, her arm and leg struck by steel bolt and icy blast. Yara seized her hesitation, swiping her knife upward, and scored a cut across Meredith’s face. Her sword hilt followed, smacking into Meredith’s forehead. Meredith screeched, blood pouring from her nose.

“No!” The Knight-Commander swung her sword, banishing those around her, and raised it up once more. “Maker…give your servant…the power…to vanquish this evil!” Her voice had become distorted, broken. Yet more red light emerged from the runes, and they struck the statues guarding the Gallows. The crimson glow filled their veins, and then bronze came to life. They shook off their metal bindings and stepped into the courtyard, brandishing giant swords.

“Maker, she’s completely gone off the deep end!” Hawke muttered. “Beth, Varric, attack those things from a distance. Yara, try to stop the statues from moving, and Fenris, smash them to pieces!” She tilted her knives towards the Knight-Commander. “Everyone else, on Meredith!”

Nodding, Yara ran to her new position. Covered by a hail of fire from Bethany, she and Fenris faced the first statue. Its joints creaked and groaned, but it was by no means slow. It struck first, and Yara rolled away, the bronze shattering the stone tiles. She hit back, proving steel was stronger, and broke its left foot. Bethany then cast an ice spell, freezing its entire leg.

Fenris growled, throwing his full weight behind his broadsword, and the limb cracked. The statue stumbled, and Yara made short work of its other leg. Immobile, it could only swipe helplessly as Fenris tore its remaining limbs off. As its arms came crashing to the ground, Yara leapt. Her dagger sank into the statue’s neck, and she used it to scramble onto its head. The statue could do nothing as Yara drove her sword through its cranium, and it ceased moving.

The other statue came to rescue its sister, but it was caught by another ice spell. Fenris yelled, tearing through every piece of bronze his eyes fell upon. First its legs went, then its arms, and Yara scrambled to get to the head. Soon her blade was protruding through its face, and it crashed to the ground. Triumphant, Yara jumped off the wreckage, landing beside Varric.

“Good work,” Fenris commented.

“Right.” Yara turned to Hawke, who was duelling Meredith alone. Aveline and most of the Templars had been wounded, and Merrill’s staff had snapped. But Meredith was tiring, unable to keep up with Hawke’s speed. Finally the rogue landed a heavy blow to her chest, and Meredith fell to the ground. Still she would not give up her sword, and she howled.

“I…will not…” She reached skyward again, her fingers clawing at the moon. “…be… _defeated_!”

But her defiance was misplaced. The red energy within the sword went wild, and she screamed. Her body was unable to withstand the lyrium that tore through her skin. Hawke retreated, shielding her face with her arm. The Knight-Commander’s veins turned red, her bones became stone, and the sword exploded into fragments. Her mouth twisted, her face forever locked into an agonizing wail, and she fell still.

“Amber!” Bethany rushed to her side. Hawke held her arm, which was bleeding, her gaze fixed onto Meredith. As Bethany healed her sister’s cut, the Templars regrouped. Yara pressed close to Bethany, her blades raised, and Varric did the same. For a moment the tension remained thick, as a Templar healer ran to Meredith. She looked the Knight-Commander up and down, before shaking her head.

Cullen came forward, his sword still raised. Hawke stared at him, wary. An endless moment passed, before Yara dared to speak.

“It’s over,” she said.

Cullen sighed, and lowered his weapon. His fellow Templars followed suit, and he bowed his head.

“No,” he said. “I fear it’s just beginning.”

He ordered his men to fall back, and they retreated to the Gallows. They would continue this false hunt no longer.

Hawke beckoned to the others, and they followed her out. Nobody spoke a word as they pushed their boat off and returned to the Kirkwall docks. Bethany tended to Aveline’s wounds, while Yara gazed back to the burning streets. Meredith had been defeated, but Kirkwall was left in ruins, and she was deeply troubled by Cullen’s words. Yet he was completely correct. Once word got out about this conflict, untold chaos would unfurl over Thedas. The relationship between mages and Templars would be forever changed. And now she and Bethany had outcast themselves from the Wardens, they would be caught in the middle of it.

“So what do we do now?” Fenris asked, breaking the silence as they reached the harbour.

“We get out of Kirkwall,” Hawke said, stepping back to dry land.

“What?” Aveline spluttered. “But what about…”

“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Hawke went on. “Every faction will want someone to blame, and we’re prime targets. The mages will say we didn’t stop the Templars in time; the Templars will say we wrongly defended the mages. Heck, even the citizens will say we had a hand in destroying the city. Not to mention the Chantry won’t take kindly to the murder of their Grand Cleric, either.”

“The Divine could even call for an Exalted March,” Varric added. “To make an example of Kirkwall.”

“Then we need to…” Yara cut herself short, looking to her left. Something had moved in the shadows. She watched the emptiness, when a piece of rubble fell. Her eyes narrowed, and she approached the debris.

“Seeing things, Yara?” Hawke asked. Yara said nothing, holding a hand to the bricks.

Suddenly a fistful of dirt was thrown in her face. She ducked, avoiding the worst of it, and caught hurried steps racing away.

“Maker, he’s an agent of the Chantry!” Varric gasped.

“We can’t let him report back!” Hawke cried.

Wiping the grit from her cheeks, Yara charged into the burning ruins. The scout weaved between the debris, trying to throw obstacles in her path. Yara slashed her way through the crates and splintered rafters, jumping and winding her way through the tight paths. She might’ve not known Kirkwall well, but she was fast, and quickly made up the distance. Most of the others fell behind, too worn out from the battle against Meredith. Yara pushed her fatigue aside, the scout in her sights.

Finally the scout came to the entrance to Hightown, now half-blocked with rubble. He bolted for the narrow opening, but slipped on a patch of loose stones. He stumbled, and Yara threw her dagger, bringing more rubble down and blocking off his escape. Snarling, the scout spun around, cornered. Yara faced him down, her sword at his chest. She couldn’t identify much through his hood and scarf, but she could clearly see belts filled with throwing knives.

Without hesitation the scout threw a blade from his sleeve. Yara dodged, letting it sail over her head, then attacked. To her surprise, her blow was met with the hilt of her own dagger. With her caught off guard, the scout took his chance and hit back. The knife tore the edge of Yara’s shirt, exposing her neck and upper chest. She jerked backwards, her pendant gleaming in the flickering firelight.

The scout stared at her necklace, his eyes wide.

“That pendant…” He abruptly spoke, his voice gruff. “Where did you get that?”

Yara blinked, but her confusion was soon eclipsed by anger. Was he trying to trick her?

“It’s mine,” she retorted.

“Then…” The scout lowered his dagger. “Then she _did_ survive!”

“What in the Maker’s name are you talking about?” Yara snapped.

“The Hero of Ferelden!” the scout declared. “The Left Hand spent years searching for that token, believing she wasn’t dead. So, if it’s truly yours…” His eyes narrowed. “ _Is_ it yours?”

“It’s…I…I don’t remember…” Yara held her head, completely thrown. This was too much to take in. If what the scout said was true, then did that mean…no. She couldn’t possibly be the Hero of Ferelden. She just _couldn’t_. For Maker’s sake, that woman was long dead!

“But everyone knows the Hero had brown hair and hazel eyes,” the scout went on, refuting his own proposal. “You look nothing like her.” He renewed his grip on his blade. “So the only way you could have that pendant was if you stole it from her corpse!”

“No!” Yara protested, but her voice faltered. How could she deny that? She had no memory!

“You left her to die, didn’t you?” the scout accused. “Murderer!”

“Yara!”

Bethany rushed to Yara’s side, breathless. The scout frowned, reaching for the pouch at his belt.

“The Left Hand must know about this,” he growled. “You won’t escape her. She’ll see that you pay for your crime a hundred times over!”

“Don’t move!” Bethany made to cast a spell, but the scout was faster. He threw several pellets to the ground, and they burst into smoke. Yara coughed, blinded. Bethany raised her hand, gathering the wind, and cleared the mist. The scout had vanished.

The mage cursed. Yara ignored her, pressing her hand over her pendant. Her arms shook, and a horrible taste filled her mouth. After she’d taken so much comfort from her necklace, had thought it was the only link to her former life…to find out it might be _spoils from the Hero of Ferelden_ …

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Was she really a murderer? Was that why her subconscious kept those dark memories from her?

_But why had she been left so close to death…_

“Yara?” Bethany took Yara’s shoulders, forcing her to look up. The mage’s eyes were brimming with concern. “Is…Is what he said true? Did you murder the Hero of Ferelden?”

“I don’t remember!” Yara snapped, shoving Bethany aside. She grasped her pendant again, suddenly cold. “Maybe I don’t want to remember…”

“Aha, found you!” Hawke had finally caught up to them. She soon spotted Yara’s expression, however, and bit her lip. “Maker, what happened?”

“The scout got away,” Bethany said.

“I saw, but I was talking more about what you just said,” Hawke admitted. “What’s all this about murdering the Hero of Ferelden?”

Yara snapped her eyes shut, covering her head with her hands. It wasn’t true…it couldn’t be true…but when she had nothing to tell her otherwise…

“I don’t know!” she cried out, wanting respite from the questioning voices in her mind. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything!”

“Oh, Yara.” Bethany held her arms, trying to comfort her. Yara looked away, ashamed. “There’s only one thing for it, then. If the Left Hand won’t let this go, we have to find the truth and prove you’re innocent.”

“If that’s even the case,” Yara whispered.

“Now just wait a second here!” Hawke grabbed Bethany’s wrist, pulling her aside. “Do you have any idea what kind of reach the Divine’s Left Hand has? If you get on her bad side, neither of you will stand a chance!”

“Amber, I don’t care!” Bethany shot back. “Yara’s always been there for me. She gave up everything to keep me safe. I won’t turn my back when she needs the same!”

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?!” Hawke snapped. “How will you even be able to find anything, with the Left Hand’s scouts breathing down your neck?” She shook her head. “Just forget about this and come with us, both of you. We can go into hiding, keep Yara from…”

“There’s no point endangering you all for my sake,” Yara interrupted. She squared her shoulders, and let go of her pendant. “I can’t keep putting this off, either. I have to find out who I was, and what I did. Even if it’s something I don’t want to acknowledge.”

“And I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not,” Bethany answered. Hawke opened her mouth to protest again, but she held up her hand. “It’s not your decision, Amber. Whatever happens, I won’t let the Divine’s Left Hand lay a finger on Yara.” She clasped Yara’s shoulder. “We need to find out what really happened to the Hero of Ferelden. And no matter the truth, I swear I won’t leave your side. We’ll get through this, just like everything else. I promise.”

Yara’s eyes misted. She threw her arms around Bethany, holding her tight. She truly was more than a sister to her. The mage smiled, returning the hug.

“Thank you,” Yara whispered.

They parted, and Bethany turned to Hawke. For a long while they kept a level gaze, until Hawke finally rolled her eyes.

“Well, I know there’s no swaying you once you’ve made up your mind,” the rogue conceded. “I still don’t like it, but if you really feel this is the only way, then…I guess I can let you go again.”

She grabbed Bethany into an embrace and kissed her forehead.

“I’m still going to miss you, sister,” Bethany said softly. “Please take care of yourself.”

“Likewise,” Hawke answered. “We’re all that’s left of our family now, and I don’t want to lose you.” She withdrew, still keeping hold of the mage. “You know I love you, right?”

“And I love you too,” Bethany said, resting her palm over Hawke’s. “Our paths _will_ cross again, I swear.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Hawke replied. She let go of her sister, then turned to Yara. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Yara. But whatever your past turns out to be, I’ll always be your friend. You’ve looked after Bethany when I couldn’t, and you don’t know what that means to me.”

“It’s alright,” Yara said. “I promise I’ll do my best to keep her safe.” She stuck out her hand, and Hawke clasped her wrist.

“I still haven’t forgotten how you saved our skin all those years ago,” the rogue said, “and we’d never have defeated Meredith without your help. You always seem to drop in at the right moment.” She draped her arms around both Yara and Bethany. “Now, don’t go making a big mess, you hear? I’ve got enough to clean up without you adding to the pile.”

“We’ll try,” Yara said.

“You keep your nose out of trouble, too,” Bethany said.

“Aw, you ask so much of me,” Hawke pouted. She released the two, and bowed. “Maker watch over you.”

“And you,” Yara replied. She took one last look at the Gallows, before she took Bethany’s hand. “Alright. Let’s go.”

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

* * *

 

**Part 2- Catastrophe**

After the rebellion at Kirkwall, Yara and Bethany are on the run from the Divine’s Left Hand, searching for answers to Yara’s past. However, when a platoon of Wardens suddenly vanishes without warning, Yara and Bethany are forced to reveal themselves and investigate. The old gods stir, sensing opportunity, and Yara is given a chance to finally restore her memories. But the price of truth will transform her burden into something much more horrific.


End file.
